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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646055">It Happened One Heist</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVidaMochaIV/pseuds/LaVidaMochaIV'>LaVidaMochaIV</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Kim Possible (Cartoon), Xi You Ji | Journey to the West - Wu Cheng'en</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Action, Comedy, Crime, F/M, Fantasy, Heist, takes place after the events of Oh No! Yono</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-09-25</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-02-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 09:28:54</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>13</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>26,733</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26646055</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaVidaMochaIV/pseuds/LaVidaMochaIV</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When a former colleague of Lord Monty Fiske comes to pay her respects to the late felon, she is met by the very last person she expected to see...</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Monkey Fist (Kim Possible)/Original Character(s)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>7</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Roses</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Originally was going to do this as a one-shot story, but then decided I wanted to do more with multiple chapters.</p><p>This chapter's a lot longer than I usually write them. I wanted to try my hand at building more atmosphere, and I would like to hear your feedback on that.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Monty always seemed so normal then…</em> Maggie thought as her taxi drove through the rain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was a roll of thunder in the distance. Just this past week Dr. Margaret Beckhert had seen a newspaper headline that somehow made her heart sink. Lord Monty Fiske, better known as the super criminal Monkey Fist, had met his demise encased in stone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She hadn’t seen or been in contact with Monty in over fifteen years, not since that time she spent abroad in her university days. She was well-aware of his reputation as a power-mad villain who had been apprehended multiple times by Team Possible. Yet the news of his death made her sad, nonetheless.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And there she was, in the back of a taxi with a bouquet of red roses resting in her lap, the plastic crinkling as the vehicle bounced. She rested her chin on her palm as she stared out into the mountainous countryside, the heavy rain creating a mist around them. Her recent divorce had already been weighing her down, and the news of an old friend passing just made it worse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">If she had still been living with Jeremy Hawthorne he probably would have been telling her to pay no attention to the sad news. She recalled Jeremy hadn't gotten the chance to meet Monty, yet he still wasn’t at all fond of him. However she no longer had to put up with his jealous nonsense, and she could do whatever she wanted now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For now, she just wanted to pay respects to the remaining Fiske family, and also ask them a favor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The cab slowly came to a halt outside a set of large iron gates.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“This is it, ma’am!” said the cab driver. “Fiske Castle. Don’t know why you’d want to come here. The loony who owned it turned up dead.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have my reasons,” Maggie replied as she paid her cab fare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was glad to have brought her umbrella. The driver helped her retrieve her suitcase from the trunk.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure you’re not gonna need a ride back, ma’am?” the driver asked again, adjusting his hat in the rain.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll manage. Thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The driver shrugged. “Eh, suit yourself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As the cab drove away at a cautious speed, Maggie inspected the iron gates and found them ajar. Odd. She would have expected them to be chained up given the circumstances. It was still quite a walk up the path to the castle doors, so she had to deal with the cuffs of her slacks getting soaked on the way up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wasn’t sure what the usual protocol was on visiting a place like this, assuming there was anyone living in it. She tried the large heavy knocker, knocking three times with an intimidatingly thunderous echo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No answer, and she was only getting more soaked the more she waited.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She pushed the heavy door open with her shoulder, shaking out her umbrella as soon as she was inside. There was no welcome mat or the like to wipe her shoes, and she didn’t want to ruin the burgundy carpet at her feet. She resolved to remove her boots and leaned them against the wall with her umbrella and her suitcase. If there was a host to speak of she was sure they’d understand. She paused to shake out the cuffs of her beige slacks, wishing she had went with the black ones instead.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie picked up the bouquet again and called out, “Hello? Anyone here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her voice echoed through the cavernous halls and she felt a chill. There were no lights or candles to illuminate the place. The late afternoon daylight overcast by the rainclouds barely lit the way through the castle windows.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However there was a faint but distinct warm glow at the end of the great hall. There was a flame burning in the fireplace. Someone was here. They had to be.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie moved forward, and there was an odd but faint chittering sound from above. She looked up and perched in the rafters weren’t birds, but monkeys dressed in ninja attire, all watching her like attentive little gargoyles and grotesques.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She recalled back in the day Monty already had a fixated interest in all things simian. She just never would have anticipated that he would have taken it as far as he did. But, then again, she wasn’t one to judge with where her own study of bats had taken her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked over at the fireplace again. Could one of the monkeys have set that up? Were they holding a sigil for their old master? She wouldn’t put it past them. Animals are known to grieve when their human companions leave or pass away, and monkeys could be clever little devils.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Above the mantlepiece was a large portrait of Lord Monty Fiske. A very dignified likeness of the man, though perhaps painted some time after she knew him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hello, Monty,” Maggie greeted, knowing full well there was no one there to answer. “Been keeping yourself busy, I see…” She smirked. “You should see what I’ve been up to. I lost my license now.” She crossed her arms and shifted her weight to one foot. “Was hoping maybe you had family living here. Maybe a distant cousin or something.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The monkeys above her made themselves present as they climbed down to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie chuckled. “I supposed maybe these guys count, but I don’t speak their language.” She looked around at the little monkey entourage as they cautiously approached her in that way that animals do. “Don’t mind me, fellas. I’m just here to pay my respects.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She set the bouquet on the mantle beneath the large portrait, careful to not crinkle the plastic and startle the monkeys too much.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked up at that painted face once again and lamented that she never paid Monty a visit sooner. With his accomplishments in the fields of archeology and zoology she would have thought she would at least have written him to congratulate him on his success.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then again, she only barely got to know him so long ago. By the time he was an award-winning scholar, she already had her own hands full with her focus on chiropterology, almost quite literally with the baby bats she had to feed and raise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She heard another noise above her and instinctively looked up. She had previously assumed all the monkeys were present. She saw no signs of movement up in the rafters but the heavy shadows didn’t help. Perhaps another one of the monkeys was perched up there. But this noise sounded heavier than one of these little guys. A chimpanzee, maybe? An orangutan? Given the little menagerie that surrounded her it could have been anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sighed and once more turned to the portrait. There was another reason she was here. Another reason she hoped that Monty had family or even remaining serving staff who lived here. She had hoped to properly discuss the matter that she came all the way up here for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But it looked like she was going to have to help herself. She looked around and in the corner she spotted an entryway to a set of stone spiral stairs. The monkeys only watched her curiously as she made her way up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the top of the stairs there was a long hallway with many doors on one side and a large set of two on the other. Along the floor there was a red carpet, now faded and collecting dust. No signs of any footprints, human or otherwise, implying that no one had been through there for several months.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the end of the hall she spotted what looked like the armory. Full suits of armor stood vigilant, looking more fearsome with the occasional flash of lightning. She doubted that was where she needed to look . She’d check there later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">On the left side of the hall was a large pair of wooden doors. She gently fiddled with the brass handles, trying to remain quiet and half-expecting them to be locked tight. Fortunately they weren’t, so she didn’t have to get her lock picking kit from her suitcase. However the sound of the doors unlatching still echoed down the hall and sent a chill down her spine, as she could have sworn she wasn’t alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scanned the hall around her. Not a soul, not even a primate. In that case she hoped she would find what she was looking for soon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cautiously swung the doors open and before her was what looked to be a large gallery. Artifacts and heirlooms in glass display cases like it was a museum exhibit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smirked. This was a good place to start. She scanned the room and saw no signs of infrared lasers, tripwires or even the glare of a security camera lens.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She shook her head. Damn rich people. Think they’re so untouchable. Then again, this castle was so remote that the odds of a mere burglar making their way up here were pretty slim, as were the odds of entertaining guests given the reclusive nature of super criminals.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She perused through the gallery like she was merely sightseeing. She almost wished there were human occupants here so she could have gotten a proper tour. All manner of weapons and shields adorned the walls, from medieval Europe to feudal Japan. Ancient remnants of pottery and statues, either as wholes or in pieces, all remarkable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie morosely smiled to herself, her face reflecting the display glass that covered a chipped bowl with a stylized image of a grinning macaque. She would have loved to have gotten a personal tour from old Monty himself. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She passed by another display case and she finally saw it. Next to a partially-reconstructed clay vase was the thing that she came for. The jade pendant of Wufu.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In her earlier days she might have needed a glass-cutting kit for this, and in the form of a Swiss army knife for easy-carrying. However at this point in time she didn’t. Her own fingernails had long since become sharp and sturdy enough for the job.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With her index fingernail she carefully carved out a hole large enough to reach her hand through, and gently pushed the little glass circle inside so as to not shatter it. She reached inside and picked up the amulet from its stand, the jade cold and the old woven twine coarse in her hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She smiled at the sight of the Wufu symbol once more. It had been carefully cleaned and polished since last she saw it. Now she could actually distinguish the five bats that surrounded the shou character. She carefully wrapped the pendant in a handkerchief and tucked it inside her jacket.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then her heart skipped a beat as she realized her instinct had been correct. She wasn’t alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Right behind her she heard someone land on the floor. How long had they been up there?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“THIEF!!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie snapped her finger and ducked, barely dodging a swift chop in her direction. Her attacker hit the display case instead, glass shattering as Maggie tumbled out of its path.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie barely got a glimpse at her assailant, hunched over and seemingly more beast than man.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her first instinct was to get out of this room. All these glass display cases and sharp objects nearby was no place to engage in combat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She darted out into the hall and back towards the stairs. Her heart pounded as she could hear her assailant behind her skid across the floor in a sharp turn. She only realized she could have used one of the weapons in that gallery, but she was so thrown off by the sight of her attacker that her flight instincts had taken over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she rushed down the spiral stairs she briefly caught another glimpse of the man-beast pursuing her and saw him loping on all fours like an animal. She repressed the urge to scream, as she could have sworn she had a nightmare like this as a child.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The man-beast followed her into the hall, where seemingly she had disappeared. He surveyed his surroundings, no footfalls in any direction nor any doors left ajar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Little did he realize that Maggie was right above him, clinging upside-down above the archway by the claws on both her hands and her feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sprung from the wall just when he thought to look up, tackling him and sending the both of them rolling across the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The onlooking monkey ninjas, who were still gathered by the fireplace, screamed and hollered in reverie, as if this was just spectator sport to them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was finally able to get the monster on his back, pinning him down with her full weight on her elbow and her forearm across his chest. It wasn’t much, but it should have been enough to keep him down so she could at least catch a second wind.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He panted like an animal cornered and glared intensely into Maggie’s eyes. A fearsome face only made more grotesque by the distorted shadows of the firelight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she caught her own breath Maggie realized just how familiar those intense blue eyes were.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monty…?”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. The Mark</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The one called Monkey Fist calmed himself, but more so out of his own shock to have heard someone refer to him by his birth name.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie relieved the pressure on his chest as he had been seemingly pacified. She got off of him as he sat up, mentally getting his bearings like he just awoke from a horrifying nightmare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was relieved that they were no longer fighting, but she still could feel herself trembling all over from the shock of it all. She had just been accosted by a violent creature who turned out to be the man she thought had died.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked up at her and his brow furrowed as he struggled to recognize her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That archeological dig back in China…?” Maggie reminded. “About, what was it? Eighteen years ago?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed at his eyes, and he looked up at her again. “Margaret? Margaret Beckhert?” His voice was still hoarse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Monty! It <em>is</em> you!” Maggie happily threw her arms around his shoulders, nearly knocking him back down again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Unhand me!” he declared as he angrily kicked her off with both feet. “You expect me to believe you’re glad to see me after you just tried to rob me?! Under the assumption that I was dead, no less!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie scoffed in an insulted manner as she stood back up. She smoothed out her jacket as she added, “Well, that’s gratitude for you! I come to pay my respects to an old friend and he accuses me of stealing!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist got to his own feet, revealing that with better posture he still towered Maggie by about five inches. “Oh, really? Then I suppose <em>this</em> just happened to be on your person.” From inside his gi he retrieved the Wufu pendant, the string interwoven in his fist and the carved jade swinging back and forth below.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie frantically checked inside her jacket, finding only the handkerchief she wrapped it in. He must have gotten it during the scuffle, or maybe even when he kicked her away. Monkey Fist grinned, as she just foolishly admitted her guilt with that action.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stubbornly threw her hands to her sides. “Damn! I suppose you’re gonna turn me in now…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, believe me, Margaret,” Monkey Fist threatened, “I would love to get the authorities involved for this…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha! Like I haven’t eluded them before.” Maggie rolled her eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, but if they were to get in touch with the Cheer Squad…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘The Cheer Squad?’ You mean those meddling kids who’ve busted <em>you</em> on multiple occasions? Please. Being on the lam is easy, especially when you’re no longer stuck with a dead-weight spouse.” Maggie raised an eyebrow with a wily smirk. “Besides, I’ve played this game before. I’d get an early release on good behavior, not to mention for giving them some invaluable information. The password is: Monkey Fist Lives.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eyes widened in alarm as he tucked the pendant back in his gi. “You wouldn’t dare.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, I <em>dare</em>,” Maggie grinned, not at all intimidated by the blue flames in his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Insulted, Monkey Fist grabbed at her red leather jacket, raising her off the floor to the point where her toes barely touched the rug.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I could kill you, you know,” he growled. “I could kill you right here, right now, and all my problems are solved…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The horde of monkey ninjas cried out in alarm and hid behind the furniture, only for a few of them to peek out in anticipation. Watching their master fight with this lady wasn’t fun anymore.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie didn’t move. She glanced down at his genetically modified hands, now witnessing the full-scope of his simian obsession.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She met his glare and, despite her elevated heart rate, she calmly replied, “Yeah. You could. What’s stopping you…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His nostrils flared as he drew in a sharp breath. He had anticipated a scared whimper or a desperate plea for negotiation, but nothing. He contemplated the notion of grabbing her throat just to instill some fear in her, but his fists only trembled with the tension. A small shred of him still thought of this minx as that auburn-haired graduate student, with whom he once engaged in a riveting discussion of iconography from the Han dynasty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He lowered her to the floor once more and let go of her jacket. “Damn you…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie sighed in relief as she watched him turn away in defeat. Her smug grin faltered. Under normal circumstances she might have felt like bragging about successfully calling his bluff, but that was almost too close for comfort. For now all he did was wrinkle her jacket, but that animalistic flare in his eyes was not to be trifled with.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Seeing as how she wasn’t going to claim her prize this evening, she reached for her phone to call for a taxi. However, as half-expected given how cheap her model was, she couldn’t get a signal out in this remote part of the countryside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She closed it with a frustrated sigh. “Can I use your phone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s no service,” Monkey Fist explained with a wave of his hand. “They cut me off when I was declared deceased.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, it <em>pains</em> me to have to ask,” Maggie requested, “but could you give me a ri—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was interrupted by a loud thunderclap that sounded like a gunshot, making her instinctively shield her ears.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, that’s not happening,” Monkey Fist answered dryly. He let out a beleaguered sigh and turned around to face her once more. “I can let you stay the night, Margaret, but if you try to steal from me again while under my roof I will <em>not</em> hesitate to have you thrown down the mountainside. Are we clear?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The monkey ninjas reemerged from their hiding places and eagerly grunted and shrieked in a manner that sounded like laughter, as if to confirm their master’s threat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smirked. She had dealt with far stranger negotiations than that. “Sounds reasonable.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After retrieving her bags Monkey Fist escorted Maggie through the darkened halls. She noticed that the walls were adorned in paintings of apes and monkeys in various artistic styles, some in their natural habitat and others in all manner of silly costume. She smiled to herself. Old Monty was certainly dedicated to his theme.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she was occupied with the decor Monkey Fist kept hearing a faint scratching sound along the floor. He looked down behind him and took full notice of Maggie’s own bare feet. They were thin, elongated and with curved nails like tiny talons that kept catching on the carpet as she walked. He didn’t mind the slight damage to the rug as the castle had seen far worse when the family owned pets, but he still found it curious that she too had some genetic alterations made. However he was in no mood to chitchat and compare scars, so he left the matter alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He finally brought her to one of his many guest rooms, no doubt left unused for years. It had the basic furnishing like a dresser with a round mirror. Near the balcony doors was a queen-sized bed with a lacy scarlet mosquito net draped over it, more so for decorative purposes than for insect protection.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie gave a pleased smile. It was certainly a lot nicer than what she would have expected from a cheap hotel room in town.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stepped inside and set her things down. “This’ll work just fine,” she stated with confidence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist said nothing in response. It wasn’t as though he <em>wanted</em> her as a guest this evening.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was about to shut the door behind her but she quickly turned and held it open. “Monty, wait.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist scowled. What more could she want?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie hesitated, and finally met his eyes again, an odd shine of sincerity in her gaze. “I really am glad you’re okay.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist was taken aback and left speechless. He hadn’t expected such a statement from anyone, nor did he know how to respond. He nodded as he gave an affirming grunt and shut the door.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Long after Maggie had turned in for the night, Monkey Fist remained in his chambers, unable to sleep. In his restlessness he just couldn’t move past the fact that here he was, standing, breathing, alive again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stood hunched over his dresser and looked in the mirror. It was a miracle that he could feel the touch of his own skin as he held his forehead. The last thing he remembered was being bested by an improbably skilled toddler before he was forced into unwanted slumber.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t remember how he was revived, or even how he returned to the castle. At best he had hazy, dreamlike memories of being in a place of intense heat, worse than that time he got a mild heatstroke while on that excavation in the Gobi Desert.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt absolutely drained in more ways than one as his muscles ached all over. It was a wonder that he had it in him to pursue Maggie before, and now his head was absolutely throbbing. High-time he rehydrated. He threw on a proper robe like he used to and went down to the kitchen for a glass of water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When he returned to the parlor he found the monkey ninjas were still gathered there, having helped themselves to a midnight snack from the fruit bowl over in the dining room and now in a state of play or leisure. He sat down in his favorite chair in front of the hearth as one of the black-clad monkeys perched herself on the vacant armrest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist gave a weak but grateful smile. He had his suspicions that his simian disciples might have had a hand in his resurrection.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The firelight flickered as it started to die down. He set his glass on the floor and brushed aside the ape hair on the back of his right hand. The mark of the Yono no longer glowed, but it had left a scar burned into his skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This accursed thing was nearly his undoing, and to make matters worse for him he no longer possessed the powers of the Yono. No longer was he capable of inducing earthquakes, or emitting powerful energy from his hands, or turning those who defied him to stone. Not for lack of trying, of course. If he had his way he would have turned his unwanted guest into a statue as soon as she snatched the pendant from its display case.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However what was more pressing was the fact that he was, by all accounts, a dead man walking. He sighed with the full knowledge that next time he wouldn’t be so lucky. He had no safety net in place in the event of his untimely death. No family to inherit all that he had or sign a life insurance policy to. He couldn’t very well leave it all to his monkeys, as someone needed to look after them as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed at his eyes with exhaustion, as he remembered there <em>was</em> another way…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And from the stone sprang forth the Monkey King…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. The Pendant</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The sound of Maggie’s bedroom door echoed down the hall in a way that made her laugh. It sounded less like a person simply waking up from a decent night’s sleep and more like a monster emerging from its century-long slumber.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She picked up her suitcase and wandered out in the hall, the carpet muffling the sound of her heels. She had her black knee-high boots on as she planned to leave soon and get breakfast in town. However she wanted to first thank her semi-simian host for allowing her to stay the night, considering she did try to steal from him. If not that, she also hoped that maybe this would be her last chance to nick that pendant and run.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She curiously wandered down the halls, the morning light making the castle’s interior far more welcoming than it looked before. The paintings of apes in costume were more vibrant in color and were a lot less distorted. Her favorite was this cubist depiction of two capuchin monkeys engaged in a slap-fight, aptly titled “Sibling Rivalry”.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Still, she didn’t know where to find her host or the pendant. She snapped her finger and her ears twitched as she took in every detail of the space around her. She followed the direction of the echo and knew where a door had been left open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She snapped again. The room beyond was a large one, and the wooden doors had been left askew, like they had been thrown open and left unattended since. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She peered around the doorframe to see that it was a library. The walls were aligned with shelves and numerous books, a rolling ladder on a track to help reach the ones upon the tallest shelves.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scanned the room to find out why the doors had been clumsily left open. Slumped over a table among an array of open books was Monkey Fist, lightly snoring and looking like a college kid who pulled an all-nighter in the campus library.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie gently set her suitcase down and silently chuckled, as for a moment she was brought back to that archeological dig she went on with him. She vividly remembered late one night when she was half-asleep she had paid a visit to Monty’s tent to ask if she could bum some water from his canteen. When she moved the tent flap aside she found him still wide-awake and heavily engrossed in his reading by the light of a lantern, not even having changed into his nightclothes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie leaned against the doorframe as she smiled at that memory. Back then it was hard <em>not</em> to get wrapped up in his enthusiasm for ancient civilizations, simians, and often both. That night she visited his tent she wound up staying up with him for another hour just to listen in on his research findings, only to be interrupted when her bunkmate wanted to know what was keeping her and that water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked up at Monty Fiske as he was now. It didn’t look like she was going to get that Wufu pendant, but at least she would get to say goodbye to her old buddy, if he was still willing to call themselves that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She softly walked over to where he was dozing, not wanting to wake him up just yet. She leaned over his shoulder, curious about what it was that he pulled an all-nighter for. Lots of old books were left open and a few ancient scrolls unfurled, most of the texts written in East Asian characters that she couldn’t read. A few of the books were printed in English, including the one that Monkey Fist was apparently using as a pillow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaned her palm on the table to try to read some of it, but before she could make out a word Monkey Fist’s hand suddenly clasped around her wrist like a hunter’s snare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sprung to his feet in alarm, his chair loudly falling back to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Whoa! Whoa! Easy!” Maggie cried. “I’m not stealing anything! See?” She held up her bare palms. “My hands are empty! You can check my pockets if you like!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist panted as he quickly recalled the previous night. He let go of Maggie and as she rubbed at her wrist she got another look of those hairy hands of his. It was a wonder to her just how much people can change in the span of eighteen years. That this respectable scholar she once admired had become such a beastly curmudgeon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist picked his chair back up and sat down again, still eyeing her suspiciously.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What are you doing in here?” he inquired in an accusing tone as he proceeded to close the books he had left open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie folded her arms across her chest and answered in an irritated voice, “Well, I <em>was</em> planning on saying goodbye before I left, but then I remembered I needed to bum a ride from you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist didn’t answer as he continued to tidy the books in neat little piles to be put away later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She curiously picked up one on the books and flipped through the pages. “What are you researching here, anyway?” It was all written in Mandarin, and she paused at a watercolor illustration of a vibrant green stone on an ornate gold ribbon, with the stylized silhouette of a simian carved into its face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist snatched the book out of her hands. “That’s none of your concern!” He set the book aside once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was an uncomfortable silence as Maggie waited for his answer about that ride back into town, a silence that was broken by the sound of curious chittering out in the hall. One of the monkey ninjas cautiously leaned into view, aware that her master was attending to that human he was fighting last night.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, hi there,” Maggie greeted with a smile. She softly walked around the table and knelt down like she was greeting a small child.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The monkey shyly retreated behind the doorframe, but quickly worked up the courage to approach Maggie, who held her hand out to let the creature know she meant no harm. The monkey first sniffed at Maggie’s fingertips, then took her fingers and thoroughly examined her from her knuckles to her wrist, like she was searching her for hidden weapons. Determining that Maggie was trustworthy, the monkey eagerly made her way up her arm and clung to her neck like a toddler who wanted to be held.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie giggled as she stood back up. “Oh, aren’t you sweet?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The monkey chittered happily. This human was all right.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist cleared his throat as he shot a mildly annoyed scowl at Maggie. Not twenty-four hours in his domain and already she was acting like she was their mother.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He finished arranging his books and approached them, knowing what this was about. Normally around this time of morning he would be joining the ninjas in the dojo for their regular training and this one had come to remind him of that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll be running late this morning, Daisy,” he explained, “so you and the others may begin the usual drills.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daisy made an affirming sound and she sprung down on the floor to rejoin her friends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled as Daisy scampered away. She looked over at Monkey Fist who still had that annoyed scowl on his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?” Maggie lightly shrugged. “I can’t help it if animals love me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, you’re a regular fairy tale princess,” Monkey Fist dryly replied.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smirked to mask her disappointment. There was no reaching this guy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I should be going soon,” she said. “If you’re gonna give me a ride I’m ready when you are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she made her way towards the doorway Monkey Fist took notice that she was wearing shoes this time, which reminded him of the claws that were no doubt hidden underneath. How she ambushed him the previous night by clinging to a wall. He briefly glanced at the pile of research he conducted during the night and furrowed his brow in reluctance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Margaret, wait!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She paused.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You said you have had experience in the criminal underground. Is that correct?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie leaned against the edge of a table coyly. “I dabble.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist hesitated, but he had to swallow his pride. “I… need your help, Margaret Beckhert…” It almost literally pained him to ask.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you need <em>me</em> for?” Maggie inquired. “You’ve already got your adorable little ninja backup dancers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist scowled at that remark. He made his way to the other end of the table that Maggie had rested on as he elaborated, “Be that as it may, I am currently a dead man walking. If I were to bring my monkey ninjas along on a mission I would undoubtedly draw suspicion from the Cheer Squad. And I certainly don’t want <em>that</em> again…” he grumbled through his teeth, briefly reminded of the toddler who outwitted him. “No. I need the assistance of another person. One who can navigate around the latest security measures.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie chortled playfully. “Why, Monty, I’m flattered!” She sat on the edge of the table and leaned forward in a flirtatious manner, knowing it would ruffle his feathers a little. “Pray tell, what’s gotten you to change your mind about me so suddenly? Is it my extensive resumé in the criminal circuit? My alluring good looks?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist raised an eyebrow, not impressed by her show of flirtation. “Hardly. Last night, your casual strolling about notwithstanding, you showed <em>some</em> considerable skill in burglary. And a keen sense of hearing, if I’m not mistaken.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie tossed her head up. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, come now. I saw the way you kept surveying your surroundings. Regardless of my faculties last night, it was plain to see that you were able to detect my very presence. You kept looking in my direction even as I remained unseen.” Monkey Fist rubbed at his chin, hoping to play to her ego. “Just how did you acquire such impressive skill?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie looked in his direction with a clever smile across her face. She raised her hand and snapped her finger, briefly glancing in the direction that the sound echoed out through the hallway. “Practice. Lots of practice.” She pulled her hair back and revealed that her ears had been somewhat enlarged, elongated and pointed like that of a bat. “And maybe a few genetic modifications of my own.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist’s eyes widened in surprise. Considering he had already seen her clawed feet and her sharp nails in action, he didn’t know what he was expecting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I… don’t suppose you <em>also</em> saw Dr. Amy Hall for those alterations, did you?” he questioned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie coyly shook her hair back in place. “Mmmaybe.” With a shrug she explained, “Hey, Amy and I were roommates for a few years, and she owed me a favor for covering her half of the rent.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hm.” He couldn’t fathom what it was like living with someone like DNAmy, given his own complicated history with her. He supposed that Maggie must have had a far more patience for Amy’s Cuddly Buddy obsession.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Almost sprung for the bat wings,” Maggie added as she straightened her vest, “but <em>you</em> try buying shirts with those things!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist blinked and waved his hand as if to shoo the odd topic of conversation away. “My point stands. Your skills could stand to be quite useful to me in my mission.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Monty…” Maggie smirked as she made her way across the table like a cat until she was but inches away from Monkey Fist’s face. “You’ve played this game before. It’s not a matter of ‘how’. It’s a matter of ‘why’.” She fiddled with the lapel of his robe. “Missions take work, and that kind of work don’t come cheap.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist smacked her hands away with the same annoyance as if he had swatted a fly. Outside hand-to-hand combat, he didn’t like to be touched. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie took the hint and leaned back with a frown. “Seriously, though, Monty. Just <em>why</em> should I help you? And after you pulled an old-fashioned Harry Lime and made me think you were dead?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist’s brow furrowed. He had no real leverage over her as she made it very clear that she could turn him in if he did the same to her first. He crossed his arms in front of him, and was quickly reminded of the object that he had tucked into the folds of his gi.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He reached underneath and retrieved the Wufu pendant, letting it dangle in front of his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I will give you this,” he offered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie’s eyes widened, and almost like a reflex she tried to swipe it out of his hand, only for him to pull it out of reach. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She scowled at him, though she was more mad at herself for failing to keep up a good pokerface. “And just why should I go risking my neck for such a small thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You seemed rather keen to get it last night. You could have chosen <em>anything</em> in my collection that was worth so much more, but you chose this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie glanced away in frustration. She knew he was baiting her, and it was working. “Fine. You’ve got yourself a deal, Lord Monty Fiske.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excellent.” Monkey Fist grinned and proceeded to tie the Wufu pendant around his neck so that it may remain on his person until their transaction was completed. “So we are in agreement?” He held out his hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, we are.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They shook hands, both with fierce, determined grips.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So what’s the job, Monty?” Maggie asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist slid his hand from hers and leaned forward on the table. “Are you familiar with Sun Wukong the Monkey King?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie raised an intrigued eyebrow. “Go on.”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. The Underground</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist chose to brief Maggie on the mission elsewhere, away from where others could potentially see or hear them. Despite his public status as “deceased” he still harbored the notion that anyone could be watching him. He retrieved a particular ancient scroll that he had in his research, and motioned Maggie to follow him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He brought her back down into the parlor and stopped in front of the fireplace. He glanced at Maggie over his shoulder with an intense flare in his eyes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie knew that kind of look. He wanted to know that he could trust her to the fullest with what he was about to share with her. She had been involved in crimes ranging from grand larceny to attempted hostile takeovers. She returned the serious look and lightly nodded. He had her loyalty as expected from any reliable partner in crime.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist turned to the wall-mounted candelabra, fashioned to look like it was being held aloft by the firm grip of a chimpanzee. He pulled down the stone arm by its wrist and the fireplace ominously lowered itself below the floor with a sound like a slow, low growl, revealing a darkened set of stone stairs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist then descended on all fours in a most urgent manner with Maggie not far behind, her heart racing with excitement. She wasn’t at all surprised that the evil genius had his own secret lair in his home. That was just tradition. But that he had one that was like something out of a Cocteau film; a genetically-altered bat-girl could get used to this.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the foot of the stairs they came to an entrance of his dojo. The Japanese-style furnishings in the yellow lamplight made for a stark contrast to the cool-hued European Gothic above them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist and Maggie stepped onto a wooden platform where below them on a large mat of woven reeds the monkey ninjas were paired up and heavily engaged in their combat training. Their master made his way to a far corner on the platform where he had his computer installed. He sat down in a lotus position and Maggie followed suit, instead content to kneel in case she needed to bolt up in a hurry.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist cleared his throat as he set the scroll down before her. “Some time ago I had attempted to obtain the power of the Monkey King through the Monkey King Amulet.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Heh, heh,” Maggie laughed. “Creative naming there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist scowled. “Please. At the time my goal was to achieve full simian form, but thanks to Kim Possible it not only eluded my grasp once more, but it has since been hidden in an undisclosed location and presumably kept under lock and key.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you want me to help you get it back?” Maggie presumed as she leaned forward, assuming that was going to be the image in the scroll.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, that isn’t quite what I had in mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist unfurled the ancient yellowed paper. It appeared to be a chart laying out a list of many colorful objects, and below a symbol of a monkey emitting some kind of mystical blue energy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Achieving full monkey-osity is only half of the puzzle…” he explained. “You see, Sun Wukong the Monkey King had a myriad of abilities. It wasn’t just a title for him, after all. When Kim Possible merged with the amulet’s powers she was unaware of what she was truly capable of.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought back to that encounter, when she had managed to throw a considerably heavy weight with her newly-formed tail. Immense physical strength had been one of Sun Wukong’s many talents, and fortunately she had not thought to fully awaken it. However the impact still hurt, and he rubbed at his chest where he remembered the weight colliding with him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Many of these items have since disappeared,” Monkey Fist continued, his hand brushing across the image, “however there are three artifacts that are still within our grasp.” He rapped his finger on the aged paper, pointing to an ink painting of what looked to be a thin, ornate vase. “The first item on the list should be the easiest. An ancient container of a supposedly celestial wine that has been left unopened for hundreds of years.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie let out an impressed whistle. “That’s gotta be one helluva vintage! Unless… Can wine go bad?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist ignored her question as he lifted himself by his knuckles and turned to his computer. Maggie moved over closer so she could see over his shoulder a little better. As she waited for him she glanced over at the monkey ninjas sparring. Despite looking so sweet before these creatures were in fact very skilled fighters. It was like watching a horde of tiny titans.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist finally pulled up all the information he had on their target. “The wine vase had just gone up for auction and was purchased by Sir Mortimer Frederick.” He accessed his digital profile on the man, which included a photo of a chubby old fellow with ostentatious white muttonchops and dressed in an old army uniform, a number of medals adorning his chest that were more for show than any real accomplishment. “Purportedly, he collects vintage bottles of all manner of spirits and never opens them.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Man,” Maggie remarked, “rich people are weird.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist cleared his throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Present company excluded, of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, Sir Mortimer is a bit… eccentric,” Monkey Fist admitted as he pulled up more data on the man’s estate. “Still turned out better than his brother, Teddy. Believed himself to be Winston Churchill, and once mistook me for Franklin Roosevelt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie squinted at Monkey Fist’s features as he continued typing. “Yeah, I don’t see it. Though if you grew a beard you could maybe pass for Lincoln.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist tossed her a mildly annoyed side-glance and he pulled up a three-dimensional map of Sir Mortimer’s manor. Below the initial structure was an exceedingly large labyrinthian basement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As you could imagine with a collection such as his, he would own one of the largest wine cellars in the world.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And he doesn’t serve or even drink a single drop of it,” Maggie stated. “What a waste.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. However, fortunately for us that is undoubtedly where he is keeping the jade wine.” He highlighted a small pocket of space in the wine cellar map and continued, “He has a designated space reserved for the spirits he provides for his parties, but the rest beyond that is closed off. And only selected members of his cleaning staff have the code.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what’s the plan? We hack the lock? Or make a door?” Maggie was quite seasoned to how these jobs worked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bypassing the lock would be the wiser method. We want to attract as little attention as possible.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Lucky for you,” Maggie grinned as she glanced upward, remembering where her suitcase was, “I’ve got just the toy for that!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“As much as I love your enthusiasm, Margaret, no,” Monkey Fist declined. “I shall infiltrate the estate myself. I know the layout of the manor as I’ve attended a few of Sir Mortimer’s charity balls in the past.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now, hold on,” Maggie objected as she leaned in for a closer look at the image of the estate. “If it’s just a standard burglary then why shouldn’t I go in? Just give me a map and the picture of our target…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Can you read Chinese?” Monkey Fist inquired.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What does that have to do with it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, do you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“… No,” Maggie admitted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist raised his eyebrow. He didn’t think so. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He once more pulled up the web page for the auction house where Sir Mortimer purchased it. “What distinguishes this vase from others is the writing beneath its base. None of the photos available have that detailed, and for all we know Sir Mortimer might have countless forgeries in his collection as well. So, unless you want to take comprehensive lessons in Chinese dialects within the next twelve hours, you had better let me take care of it. I will still need you to man the boat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Boat?’ Wait, what?”</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A chilled breeze coming from the sea brushed across the shoreline as the two thieves dropped anchor below an overbearing cliffside. The speedboat bobbed against the water while its passengers were already laying low, the waves beneath them defying them like the sound of their own heartbeat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sir Mortimer Frederick’s manor stood on top of the cliff where one could look out into the sea from a back window or from the balcony.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two of them looked up at the cliffside in anticipation, waiting for the exact perfect moment to make their move.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist checked his watch. It was past one in the morning and much of the manor’s staff had gone to sleep along with their employer, leaving only the security guards on patrol.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He put his watch away. He was dressed in his traditional ninja fatigues with his needed tools at his belt, including a few things that Maggie had provided.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She couldn’t take her eyes off the cliffside. “Why is it always a cliff…?” she remarked. She looked at her partner and asked, “You sure you can handle that on your own?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist pulled his hood up over his head and his face. “Margaret, I’ve scaled mountains in search of lost monasteries far higher than this. This is hardly a challenge.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was about to slip on his gloves when Maggie interrupted, “Hold it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glared at her through his hood. “What now?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">From underneath one of the boat’s seats she retrieved what looked like a burlap sack of flour held shut by a pull cord. She yanked it open, grabbed Monkey Fist’s wrists and forced both of his palms in the off-white powdery substance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He immediately pulled back in shock. “What is this?!” He instinctively dusted much of the powder off his hands, but it still remained in his knuckle-hair and the creases of his palms. “Are you <em>trying</em> to make me leave fingerprints?!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like they’re gonna look for the prints of a dead man,” Maggie reminded. “Besides, you’ll be wearing gloves anyway, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“… Correct,” Monkey Fist begrudgingly confirmed. “But I’d still like to know what it is exactly that you made me come in contact with!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s for in case you come across any attack dogs on the perimeter. Let the dog sniff your hand and it should be pacified for an hour, at the least.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Monkey Fist slipped his gloves on and slung the grappling hook and rope over his shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie leaned on the boat’s dashboard, “I mean, why even bring me along if you just needed someone for your getaway vehicle?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist glanced over his shoulder, and pulled his hood back up so she may see the full seriousness of his deadpan expression. “Because never let the monkey drive…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. The Fire</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within the walls of Sir Mortimer’s estate, all were unaware of the black-clad thief who made his way through the ballroom skylight, as was his tradition when breaking into museums. It was a good way to bypass the security locks on the outside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist lowered himself by the rope, and froze at the sound of low growling behind him. He cautiously looked over his shoulder and in the doorway he saw a doberman and a German shepherd on their own patrol, being the first to catch him in the act.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dogs charged at him. Monkey Fist removed his right glove using his free opposable foot and held out his bare palm. The two canines stopped dead in their tracks, and curiously sniffed at his fingers. They proceeded to whine in contentment as their ears folded back and they drifted to the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist let out a relieved sigh and proceeded to quietly lower himself to the floor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned on his earpiece. “Remarkable, Margaret! Just how does this powder work?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It causes a chemical reaction in their brain that basically makes them think of Mom,” Maggie proudly explained. He could almost hear her smiling through his earpiece.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He rubbed the remaining particles still in the creases in his fingers. “That’s quite impressive.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, bats aren’t the only critters I’ve worked with.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist removed his other glove and proceeded to give both dogs thorough scratches on the tops of their heads. It wasn’t so much out of affection but to put some of the powder on them so that they might be kept at bay for as long as he needed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He moved out into the hall and was about to put his gloves back on when he heard approaching footsteps. He tucked himself into the shadows of a pedestal displaying a Ming vase as a security guard walked by. Monkey Fist timed his movements perfectly so that he was well-hidden in the shadow cast by the guard’s flashlight as he slipped by, not a sound from his footfalls or from his breathing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It wouldn’t be long before the hounds would be discovered in a drugged state of bliss. If he was lucky they would mistake the dogs for being lazy, but he still had to act fast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">During their travel on the way there, he had carefully studied the map of the estate so he knew which halls to turn to find the wine cellar.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made his way down the stairs to the basement, but upon hearing the first wooden board creak beneath his weight he made a great leap down onto the concrete landing. It was almost like a reflex.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Confirming that he hadn’t drawn any attention, he stood back up and turned on his wrist-mounted flashlight to survey his surroundings.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It looked like any old wine cellar at first, but then at the back wall he saw something more akin to the entrance of a vault. Upon closer inspection it was sealed by a digital lock that required a code, no doubt set to go off if one punched in the wrong number.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fortunately they had prepared for this. From his belt he retrieved a device that Maggie had provided for him. It looked like a robotic bat that was no larger than a person’s. Monkey Fist rested it on the side of the keypad, and the tiny mechanism latched itself onto the lock by its teeth, making a series of beeps until its eyes lit up green with a tiny affirming chime. The steel door heavily swung open.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Sir Mortimer’s legendary wine cellar was less like it sounded and more like an impenetrable bank vault with its labyrinthian structure intact. A minotaur could have gotten lost in here if it didn’t get itself plastered first. It was originally built to be the family vault where the Fredericks would keep their fortune, their jewels and their heirlooms. Apparently Sir Mortimer saw it fit to replace it all with alcohol.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist began looking for a pattern in the collection’s arrangement as he had to admit to himself that he wasn’t one to judge on unconventional expenditures. He had used much of his <em>own</em> family fortune to attain his simian appendages, after all.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Lucky for this thief, the collection of spirits had been arranged by region, so it took him no time to find the jugs and bottles originating from East Asia.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His small spotlight scanning across the shelves, he knew what kind of container he was looking for after studying the photo from the auction house. The varieties of bottles, jars and flasks from different eras and nations would have proved overwhelming for an amateur thief. It was a terrible shame that Sir Mortimer kept his collection hidden underground as there were enough spoils to fit a small museum. The things one could learn from the ancient jars alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He finally came across a small narrow vase lying on its side like a common wine bottle. When he picked it up he could still feel the weight of its contents inside. It was sculpted from clay and painted green, faded to a shade of peridot with age. Decorating the sides was a lovely ink depiction of a peach orchard. It had a clay stopper that had been sealed so tight that it was practically vacuum-packed. He had to admire the craftsmanship and its superb condition, but there was one thing left to prove it was the real deal.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilted the vase back to check the base and he smiled beneath his hood. Etched into the clay were the Chinese characters that, roughly translated, read:</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“Property of the Great Sage Equal to Heaven. Paws off!”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked at his fingers and realized that the vase was lightly dusted in a substance that looked very much like sawdust. Despite the tempered steel of the vault, it seemed that Sir Mortimer must have had termites. So it was a good thing Monkey Fist came before the wooden shelves lost their integrity and the ancient containers could smash on the ground.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was only then that he realized that he had forgotten to put his gloves back on. He quickly dismissed that concern as he recalled the countless times he had stolen from museums without wearing gloves and gotten away with it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then his nostrils caught the scent of something foul.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Smoke.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That couldn’t be right. Was someone cooking up in the kitchen? Did something catch fire?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Fire..! That can’t be…!</em> </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The stench of smoke grew stronger and the air around him rose to an unbearably hot temperature. He blinked and shook his head, trying to come to his senses and remain on-task. But the concrete below his feet had turned to tall, dry grass, ripe for slashing and burning. Billows of ash fill the air, the sky red and the sun blocked out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He forced himself back against the wall. He knew this time and this place. One that he had repressed for so long yet knew all too well, and there was no escaping it now.</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Back on their getaway boat, over her earpiece Maggie could hear Monkey Fist gasping like he was struggling to stifle his screams, in between fits coughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her chest tightened. She knew those cries. She had heard them countless times from the poor hapless saps who had come into work when she and her now-former partner in crime had stormed town hall. The involuntary shrieks of people suffering their worst nightmares, rendered immobile while the villains could proceed to kidnap the mayor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Back inside the wine vault Monkey Fist struggled to stay on his feet, still clutching the ancient vase to his chest as he barely had enough faculties to not allow himself to drop it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before his eyes the world was coming to pieces in several ways. A living nightmare as he once watched a forest burn and he could do nothing to stop it. The countless lives that had been obliterated, both human and animal. He could hear them all in pain and screaming for help.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>“They’ve done nothing to you!!”</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Hurricane-like winds blew the inferno in his direction. This was his damnation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t do anything to stop it. He wanted to but his feet had grown too heavy to lift off the ground. Then his legs.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>No! Not again!</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This was it. The pact with the Yono had been reinstated. He hadn’t acted soon enough. Now he not only will be forced to to remain a lifeless statue, but now made to watch one of the most horrific days of his life…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He could feel the weight in his lungs as it grew harder and harder to breathe, until finally he collapsed. His body rendered immobile and stiff, his hands clenched around the vase, to remain there in his grip for eternity as his vision went black.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This was it…</span>
</p><p class="p3"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monty! Monty! Stay with me to me!” a voice drifted through the blackness like the words of a ghost. It sounded as though whoever it was they were trapped behind an opaque veil, their words only barely reaching him from a great distance. “Monty! Whatever you’re seeing, it’s not real! We need you to calm down first! Come on, Monty! Breathe…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The immense heat still pulsed around him and his bones rendered too stiff to move, but it was true. Despite reliving the memory of his lungs being turned to stone, he was still able to breathe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Find your center…</em> He drew in a slow, deep breath into his stomach, and calmly exhaled. He kept it up at the rhythm he would usually do during his meditation sessions. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Soon enough the blackness cleared. He managed to sit up. He wasn’t stone, he was still flesh and blood. But the world around him was still a nightmarish wasteland. He could barely steady himself as everything waved like an ocean in a storm, the ground beneath him cracked and unstable. The charred remains of the forest swayed in the violent winds while the ash and shadows of those murdered still writhed in agony.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monty!” The audible mist that had partially obscured that voice cleared and he realized it as Maggie. “That’s it, Monty. You’re all right.” Her voice sounded less far away and once more sounded like she was speaking into his ear. “Now, listen. You’ve been drugged, but I gave you an antidote before you left. Check your belt.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He did as instructed and tucked in one of his pouches was a small glass vial filled with a pale red powder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drink it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He removed the stopper, pulled his hood up and consumed it, the powder dissolving and leaving a foul taste on his tongue.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Within moments the horrifying screams faded to nothing, the shadows of the past evaporated, and the fire extinguished to unveil the darkened wine cellar of Sir Mortimer Frederick once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">There was no sign of an alarm, however he did hear approaching footsteps as he tucked the green vase into his satchel and returned to his feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">At the vault entrance the two guards scanned the place as they had heard whimpering and howling noises like that of a trapped animal. They thought maybe someone accidentally locked one of the dogs in there, but both canines were happily napping in the ballroom.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Upon their inspection they saw no sign of an intruder until they heard the vault door whine behind them as they were locked inside by the real culprit. Monkey Fist smirked beneath his mask as he heard them pound on the steel door from within. Someone on Sir Mortimer’s cleaning staff would eventually let them out.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie had gotten no word from her partner yet, so all she could do was wait. She trusted that he found the antidote all right, but she contemplated maybe going in there to retrieve him if he didn’t make it back soon. She was many things but she was not one to ditch a partner in the middle of a job, especially when they were left blindsided like that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Until finally she saw a shadow crawl its way down the cliffside. Maggie pulled the lever to weigh anchor as her partner landed on the shore. He made it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist leapt into the back of the boat and patted the side twice. Maggie switched on the ignition and they were off. He took a seat and tucked his satchel with their spoils underneath him, not wanting Maggie to see that he was still shaken up by what he had just experienced.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She waited until they were a little ways out to sea to ask him, “You all right, Monty?” She didn’t even bother to ask if he had gotten what they came for.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist pulled off his hood in relief. “Given the circumstances, yes…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Did you come into contact with any kind of weird liquid or powder while you were down there?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He eyed her suspiciously. “How did you know…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie grimaced as she drew in a sharp breath. “I know who did it.” She looked at him over her shoulder and added, “My ex was here…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. The Poison</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as the two thieves returned to Fiske Castle Monkey Fist changed out of his ninja fatigues and took a shower to wash off all remnants of the hallucinogenic powder. The traces were very minuscule, but just to be on the safe side Maggie had donned her protective lab gear while she saw to it that his clothes were washed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist rinsed out his hair, still catching himself shivering from the mental traces left of that nightmare. He had to stop to remind himself it was all over, that what he experienced just hours ago was but an illusion. However that didn’t mean it had never happened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A horrific experience from years past when he was visiting the Amazon rainforest. His group had only just happened to come across a slash-and-burn party and he couldn’t save any of the fauna there. Not unless he wanted to get caught in the flames as well. He had protested such careless destruction and tried taking his case to the government officials who could have stopped it, but they always favored the corporations that “needed” the grazing land for their livestock.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned the faucet off and toweled himself off. The nightmares to follow that unfortunate trip had persisted for quite some time. Always of looking up and a large acre of land being set ablaze. Over the years the nightmares scaled back to the ones of an appliance with an exposed wire catching fire, but the root cause was still the same. He would always wake up before the fires went out of hand, but he was still overcome with that feeling of guilt. That he should have done more to prevent it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ought to at least have gotten revenge. On many occasions he recalled that before he left Brazil he could have assassinated those corrupt government officials as a warning to others. By then he had had sufficient training in ninjutsu that he could have found out where those bastards lived, broken in, and slit their throats in their sleep. But he knew the problem was far bigger than he was. Corporate interests were a global infestation, and eliminating a few of the smaller nests would only do so much. Hardly worth the blood on his hands.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">No. As soon as he learned that there was truth to the legends of mystical monkey power he realized a better way. He would have humanity beneath his heels. As the ultimate Monkey Master he would have his revenge…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But for now, there was the fact that he had been forced to relive that nightmare in the first place. Monkey Fist threw some trousers on and descended down the stairs as he slipped into his robe, paying little mind to the fact that he wasn’t wearing a shirt underneath. Given the urgency of the matter he hadn’t the time to be concerned with modesty around his business partner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She herself was waiting in the parlor with the monkey ninjas after disposing of her lab coat in a plastic bag to be washed later.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What happened to me?” Monkey Fist demanded as soon as he was within earshot. Maggie looked up at him storming in and he added, “You never told me I’d be in the midst of chemical warfare!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monty, I swear I had no idea that was going to happen!” Maggie promised. She had been horrifically caught off-guard by the situation herself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then why did you happen to leave the very antidote I needed on my person?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You never know with these things!” she defended. “It doesn’t hurt to be prepared! Besides, what if you had gone loopy from that stuff for the guard dogs? You’d need an antidote for that, too!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm…” Monkey Fist stood down. He took a seat in his chair as he continued, “Very well. But just what <em>was</em> that chemical?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie brought in a tea tray and set it on the end-table, having taken the liberty of brewing some chamomile while he showered.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t tell you about my ex-husband?” Maggie questioned as she poured a cup. “Well, strap in.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She handed the cup to Monkey Fist and sat down on the end of the sofa, leaning on the armrest in his direction while the monkey ninjas followed suit on the other end, looking like children eager for story-time. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Jeremy Hawthorne,” Maggie explained, “better known as ‘Night Terror’, his gimmick—or, rather, <em>our</em> gimmick—was to induce wide-awake nightmares, basically to make people do what we wanted. I was the one who synthesized that powder that screwed with your head back there. I got rid of most of mine, but the bum must’ve still had some left over… He doesn’t have the wherewithal to make it himself, and I doubt he could afford to pay another chemist to replicate it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist sighed as his brow furrowed, still haunted by the echoes of that nightmare.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He paused to take in the soothing aroma of the chamomile before taking his first sip. “Do you think he might have been after Sir Mortimer’s collection himself?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That I doubt.” Maggie poured herself a cup and leaned back on the sofa. “His usual M.O. is to storm town hall or hold people hostage for ransom demands. I was usually his backup while he got to do all the fun theatrics. Quite the diva, I might add… I had to save his sorry ass when he was too busy posing for his Wanted poster.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist raised an amused eyebrow. “Really?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Really,” Maggie nodded. She sipped at her tea and continued, “Robberies weren’t really his thing. Not that it stopped him from making <em>me</em> run all his errands…” She paused to admire her nails. “It was always top secret formulas or blueprints to government facilities. You know, the basic essentials. Just <em>once</em> I would’ve liked to indulge a little and steal something from a museum.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you’ll certainly have your work cut out for you now,” Monkey Fist dryly remarked. His eyes then narrowed in thought. “You don’t suppose… he might have been <em>expecting</em> us…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Who? Sir Mortimer?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Perhaps. But I was referring to your former husband.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was almost baffled at the thought. “I have no idea. I see no reason why he should. I wouldn’t put it past him if he put the poison out to pull a mean prank on Sir Mortimer. The effects are only temporary, I’ve made sure of that. But that’s still up to three hours of unpleasant hallucinations.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because it just occurred to me that the powder might have been in the vault to act as a trap. Like how one lays out rat poison in a kitchen.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So you think Night Terror might have been <em>commissioned</em> to lay the stuff around to trap thieves? That doesn’t sound like Jeremy…” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist was about to inquire why not when Maggie explained, “He was never keen on working for The Man, man! Why do you think he turned to the glamor of crime?” She scoffed and added, “And to think I thought he was such a rebel…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist smirked at Maggie.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What? What’s so funny?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just picturing you falling head-over-heels for some poseur ‘Rebel Without A Cause’, complete with leather jacket and motorcycle.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie rolled her eyes. “Oh, please. The leather jacket and motorcycle’s more <em>my</em> speed. No.” She smirked derisively. “He was, at best, a spoiled little trust-fund baby who never once had any real problems. But he’d still go on and on about how the system was so oppressive with its <em>rules</em> and <em>standards</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist returned the derisive look. “And just what rules and standards stifled him so?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie shrugged. “That’s just it! He never said! It was the kind of rhetoric that was so broad it could have been <em>anything</em>! In my case, I was led to believe he was talking about how all the science clubs seemed to have an unspoken ‘No Girls Allowed’ policy. I was one of maybe two girls at our university who wanted to study chemistry despite our advisors telling us not to.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ha! Broadly playing to someone’s insecurities like that? He must have had a flair for marketing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I wish! He was a philosophy major!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist nearly spat out his tea laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“He even had a Frederich Nietzsche poster in his dorm room,” Maggie grinned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Lord!” Monkey Fist chortled, leaning forward as if to hide his laughter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know. I don’t know what I saw in him!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even the monkey ninjas joined in the laughter, a couple of them falling over the couch in their reverie. Maggie’s laughs slowed down to a chuckle and she smiled at Monkey Fist. Even if it was at the expense of another, she was glad that she was able to cheer him up a little after enduring whatever horror he saw when he was hallucinating. </span>
  <span class="s1">What’s more, seeing him smile again, old Monty actually looked like the archeologist she once knew.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They both calmed down and Monkey Fist decided to return to the matter at hand. “So, you have decontaminated the item?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled. “Yep. It’s right on the dining room table.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He set his tea aside and made his way to the dining room. Sitting upright on the end of the dark wooden table was the peridot jar, thoroughly cleaned off of the toxic powder. Maggie had been put in charge of decontamination as she was the most familiar with the drug, so if there were any traces left it would only have been enough to induce vivid nightmares the next time someone slept.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie caught up with him and set her cup on the table. “So what’s so special about this wine, anyway? I mean, besides the fact that it’s been unopened for who knows how long.” She picked up the vase, admiring the detailed brushstrokes in the painted peach orchard. “You said it had to do with this legendary Monkey King…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tilted the vase so she could see the Chinese writing on the bottom and Monkey Fist grinned. “Let’s say it’s the spoils of the most notorious party-crasher.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I bet with its age it’s got a lovely bouquet…” Maggie remarked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist promptly snatched it from her hands before she could be tempted to open it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made his way to his liquor cabinet which he had kept locked tight. With a small brass key he unlatched the door and tucked the vase in the far back behind his assortment of whiskey.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Good idea,” Maggie agreed. She affectionately glanced at the monkeys still playing around on the parlor sofa. “Wouldn’t want <em>these</em> little guys to try to get a nip of it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist tossed her a side-glance. “I’m more concerned about <em>you</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Monty, thy words sting me so!” Maggie retorted. “Do you really take me for a lush?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist turned to face her, his hands firmly in his pockets. “No, I take you for a thief.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fair enough.” She smirked as her eyes wandered to the jade pendant still resting against Monkey Fist’s partially-bare chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was only then that his sense of modesty came back to him and he was quick to conceal himself with his robe, unsure if he was trying to protect the pendant or himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie raised her eyebrow. Was he blushing?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“We’ll… discuss this further tomorrow,” Monkey Fist stated, failing to hide how flustered he suddenly was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He stubbornly departed and Maggie giggled to herself. She had no plans on snatching the pendant from him, but it did amuse her that this Monkey Master could, in fact, get all hot and bothered around a lady.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. The Countess</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thieves had their chance to rest up. The night of their next heist was fast approaching. Monkey Fist donned his robe and searched the castle for his partner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was neither in the parlor, nor the library, nor her room. His monkey ninjas were seemingly nowhere in the castle either, so he descended to the dojo, suspecting that they were hard at their training as usual.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As he entered he looked over towards the reed mat and his suspicions were correct. Except this time in the center was Maggie, dressed in gym attire and engaged in combat with a blindfold on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist was surprised to see that she had some martial arts skill of her own. Her technique rang familiar as it had more sweeping motions than that of kung fu or ninjutsu, and it was rhythmic in a way that it looked more balletic than combative. It was almost mesmerizing, but it didn’t make it any less effective. Despite her being blindfolded Maggie was able to dodge and block almost every move the monkeys threw at her. Her opponents didn’t hold back with their attacks, yet she still kept them on their toes with each cartwheel, flip and sweeping kick.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"> At first Monkey Fist wasn’t sure how she could do that while unable to see, but then he quickly took notice that Maggie was keeping up her rhythm by snapping her fingers. He raised his brows, as once more she was putting her echolocation to excellent use.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He casually stepped off the platform and onto the mat, the monkey ninjas standing down at their master’s arrival.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Snap!</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie sensed another challenger approaching. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh-ho! Trying to sneak up on me, eh?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She made another sweeping kick only for Monkey Fist to grab her foot before her heel could come to blows with his chin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was slightly stunned as he just held her there in an awkward position on only one foot and two hands. With her thumb she lifted her blindfold from one eye.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hi, Monty,” she smiled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Capoeira, if I’m not mistaken,” Monkey Fist observed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yep,” Maggie confirmed. “When I was studying vampire bats in Brazil I had some time to learn.” Her elbows started to wobble from the barely-balanced position. “You can let go anytime now, thanks.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And so he did with a slightly teasing smirk, allowing Maggie to get back on her feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I haven’t known many who knew capoeira,” Monkey Fist admitted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie pulled her blindfold off and grabbed a towel she had left folded on the wooden platform. She patted the sweat from her forehead and remarked, “Really? I would’ve thought since you’re the martial arts master…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I might have seen <em>some</em> demonstrations when I’ve visited Brazil. I just…” Monkey Fist once more had to push back thoughts of that slash-and-burn nightmare. “… hadn’t the time for it.” He cleared his throat. “You’ll have to give me a demonstration sometime.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“With pleasure.” Maggie draped her towel over her shoulders and asked, “So what brings you here? Business or pleasure?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Business. I narrowed the location of our next target. And since you’re so keen on committing burglary I thought I’d let <em>you</em> do the honors.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, that’s so sweet of you. So where is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Middleton Museum of Art. Next week they plan to showcase an exhibit in the west wing called ‘The Treasures of the Jade Emperor.'” He retrieved from his robe pocket a brochure on the exhibit.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oohoohoohoo…” Maggie giggled with an excited shiver. “We’re not gonna steal the whole exhibit, are we?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be foolish. We’d need a whole battalion of monkeys for a heist of that caliber. Besides, I’ve seen these treasures before in Beijing. Almost half of them are forgeries,” Monkey Fist stated with an amused smirk. He unfolded the brochure and pointed to a photo of a standing Buddha statue. “Note the detailing of the drapery on his garments here. How it doesn’t cling to his figure so and actually mimics the folds of cloth. It’s far more reminiscent of the way <em>Greek</em> sculptors depicted clothing.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” Maggie’s brow furrowed as she saw what he was talking about. She never would have spotted that so casually as he did. She took the brochure to look at it for herself and added, “But still, Middleton, of all places. Who knew they had the budget to host something so exquisite?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie’s eyes lit up at a photo of something she had never seen before. An object called, “The Diamond Snare”. It looked like a jeweled spiderweb, but she couldn’t be so certain with a mere photo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“They don’t,” Monkey Fist answered. “It only required an extensive cross-promotion with that insidious Club Banana brand <em>and</em> Smarty Mart…” Monkey Fist explained, punctuating it with a disgusted groan. “And because the exhibit no doubt cost a pretty penny, the Middleton Museum of Art will be hosting a charity gala in the foyer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“<em>Only</em> in the foyer?” Maggie clarified. “I’m getting claustrophobic just thinking about it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist shot her a deadpan glance. “It’s a fairly <em>large</em> foyer. Besides, you need not worry about that. The gala is invitation-only to some of the wealthiest figures in the metropolitan area. Furthermore, much of the museum will be cut off from the public <em>and</em> from the party, so it should give you ample time to steal the item.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A devious smile curled across Maggie’s face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I have a better idea…”</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty pulled the car up in front of the museum entrance, one of the rare occasions where he was willing to dress in civilian clothes. This time <em>he</em> was the one at the helm of their getaway vehicle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glanced at Maggie in the passenger seat, who was doing the last few touchups to her makeup. He had to admit, with her hair styled and in her sleek, sapphire-colored halter dress, she certainly looked the part of the wealthy elite who would have received an invitation to the gala.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Are you certain you can pull this off?” he asked in a low voice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie shut her compact and tucked it in her purse. She smiled at Monty and replied, “Oh, ye of little faith. I can rob this museum blind in my sleep.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I meant the gala,” Monty replied.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She tossed him a wily side-glance and pulled her sheer blue scarf over her shoulders. “Oh, your suit is simply divine, darling,” she recited, putting on her best transatlantic accent. “Trust me, Monty,” she added in her normal voice, “thanks to my old man, I’ve had the honor and privilege to witness the Dance of the Sugarplum Phonies since childhood. I’ll have these peacocks eating out of my hand.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty’s eyes narrowed. He had no other choice but to trust her. He leaned over and opened the door for her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Break a leg, Ms. Hepburn.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie giggled. “I should hope so, darling…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She stepped outside the car and as Monty pulled the car away she paused to admire the modernist architecture of the museum.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>Showtime.</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Very rarely did the foyer of the Middleton Museum of Art see such a crowd. Not since the last day of the Cleopatra’s Closet exhibit, and not nearly as posh.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The gala was in full-swing and the overlapping murmurs of formal pleasantries and half-witty banter waved across the room.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie appeared to be one of the younger attendees of the gala. Most everyone else was in their fifties or older. Thankfully, she wasn’t overdressed for the occasion.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her eyes scanned the room for any familiar faces that might give away her position. For now she was in the clear.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Um, excuse me.” She was interrupted by a tall old fellow with a Southern accent. “I don’t believe we’ve met, madam,” the man remarked. It might have sounded like a greeting, but his tone had a hint of scrutiny, like he was prepared to throw her out if he had to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Maggie answered, putting on her accent, “I’m here on behalf of the late Lord Monty Fiske, who couldn’t be here because, well… you know…” She retrieved from her purse a forged invitation which had been addressed to Montgomery Fiske, complete with the ornate typeface and the gold patterns around the border.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The old man inspected the card. It looked very real.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm. I thought we took Lord Fiske off the guest list… Oh, well.” He handed her back her invitation and politely shook her hand. “I’m Curtis Webber, your host for the evening. We’re very glad to have you with us, Miss…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Countess Irene,” Maggie introduced.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, so you and Lord Fiske must have been good friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bosom pals.” Maggie winked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not since he turned to his life of crime, I hope.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, sadly we lost touch by then. So, you knew Monty well?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Somewhat. But that was long ago. I never thought he’d stoop so low as to rob museums. He always seemed such a strong proponent of sharing knowledge with the world.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m sure he was."</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I forget. How did poor Montgomery die?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie raised her brows. “Would you believe me if I told you he was encased in stone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Mr. Webber looked at her like she was mad, but then assumed, “Ah, I see. His estate wishes to keep the matter private. I can respect that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was about to counter that that was what it said in the papers, but Mr. Webber was suddenly distracted by the arrival of some heiress.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It became abundantly clear to her that this Curtis Webber fellow was not one with any real connection to the museum. That he was merely the face of the operation, not the brains. It could take a while for Maggie to find her true mark, so in the meantime she helped herself to a plateful of fruit from the enticingly colorful assortment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she ate she scanned the lobby looking for someone who <em>might</em> have been acquainted with the museum. Most of these people in formal attire looked to be networking or there to keep up appearances. No doubt very few of them actually cared about the affairs of the museum. A majority of them just wanted to continue the facade that the wealthy were inherently cultured and intelligent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie had seen it all before. Her daddy had worked on some mayoral campaign committees and she got to lay witness to it on the rare occasions when he had custody of her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Her brow furrowed. There <em>had</em> to be someone with access to the museum itself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">In the meantime she spotted the transparent box labeled “Suggested Donation”. There were several singles and coins at the bottom, and unsurprisingly not a single one of these rich snobs gave it a second thought.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie reached for her purse and pulled out a twenty. She technically didn’t pay for her ticket; might as well help the museum out, since she was planning on pilfering a treasure or two.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me, Miss?” a man with an English accent questioned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie turned her head and standing beside her was this stout middle-aged man with a brown mustache that brought to mind Chester A. Arthur.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You say you were acquainted with the Lord Monty Fiske?” the man asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie swallowed her helping of cantaloupe and answered, “Why, yes.” She set her fork down on her plate and reached out her hand. “Countess Irene, at your service.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Charmed, I’m sure.” The man shook her hand. “You may call me Bates. I used to work for Lord Fiske.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, did you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. Rather closely for quite some time. Until after the incident with the Jade Monkeys, of course.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see. I do hope things didn’t end so bitterly between you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, not at all. Just a matter of people changing and moving on.” He gazed at the festivities going on and remarked, “I dare say, I’ve been doing pretty well for myself.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! So <em>you</em> arranged all of this?” Maggie queried.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“At Mr. Webber’s behest, naturally. I’m the assistant curator.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled. She found her mark. “Well, you’ve done a marvelous job. And if I may say so myself, this fruit plate is to die for.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, yes,” Bates answered in a disinterested manner. “I must ask you, Countess. How long did you know Lord Fiske?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, for quite some time.” Maggie managed to keep up a coy front, hoping he wouldn’t catch on and blow her cover.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see,” Bates remarked with a raised eyebrow. “I had worked under Lord Fiske’s employ for several years and not once did he mention a Countess Irene.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie tensed, fearing that she was about to be caught.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Then again, for as long as I knew him Montgomery wasn’t one to divulge much of his personal secrets,” Bates continued. “I don’t think he even disclosed the name of the doctors who worked on his monkey modifications to me.” He paused. “Uh, by any chance did you go by the name of ‘Mary’ at some point?… No, that wasn’t it… Margaret! That’s it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Once more Maggie was on alert, though she succeeded in hiding it. “No, not at all.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Because he did once make mention of this young lady he met in his university days. Now, I wouldn’t concern yourself about it, Countess. I don’t believe they were close in any… intimate manner, if you will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1"><em>Try telling </em>that<em> to some people…</em> Maggie thought. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What do you know of this ‘Margaret’ he mentioned?” she asked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Only that he remembered her quite fondly. They weren’t particularly close, but he very much enjoyed her company on that trip.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Well, isn’t that nice?” Maggie turned her head, hoping he wouldn’t see the girlish smirk creeping its way across her face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I always did find it curious that Lord Fiske never tried to take a wife.” He leaned in and discreetly added, “Or a husband, for that matter. Normally someone in his position would want to secure the family legacy. But instead he became fixated on legends of a mystical monkey power.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie giggled. “How absurd.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates raised his brows at her. “I once thought that as well, Countess. But the master succeeded in acquiring all four Jade Monkeys and for a short while he had those mystical monkey powers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie resisted the urge to tell him to pull the other one. Instead she said, “Oh, come now. You jest.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not at all. I’ve seen it with my own two eyes. Quite frankly, it’s why it came as no surprise to me when I heard that the master had been rendered a statue. Knowing him, the poor fool must have flown too close to the sun, if you will.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see.” Maggie set her plate of unfinished fruit slices on a nearby table. “So just what are the proceeds of this gala going to?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ah, well, you see Countess. We’ve recently been granted permission to display what we’re calling ‘The Treasures of the Jade Emperor,’ and we’re hoping to keep them on display for another full month before their return to China. Surely it says so on your invitation.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, of course. How silly of me!” Maggie giggled. She leaned in with a flirtatious smile and requested, “I don’t suppose you could grant me a little sneak peek at the exhibit, would you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m afraid not, Countess. It’s against regulations.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, please?” Maggie fluttered her eyelashes. “It would be a most enlightening experience. Especially from someone who knows it all as well as you do.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh… Well, I suppose there’d be no harm in it…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smirked. He may have been immune to her attempts at flirtation, but he wasn’t immune to flattery.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After Bates discreetly filched an unopened bottled of champagne and two clean flutes, he and Maggie slipped away from the crowd up the stairs and into the shadows of the museum proper.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Bates escorted Maggie, he only turned on the lights for the hallway and left the galleries in the dark.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates stopped beside a doorway, prompting Maggie to only look from where they stood.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Sorry I can’t give you a proper tour, ma’am. I’m afraid you’ll have to pay standard admission price for that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, that’s quite alright.” Maggie leaned forward and peered at the partially shadowed exhibits, barely illuminated by the yellow lamplights from outside. She was able to make out a few jewels in display cases and statues on their pedestals. “I’m sure Monty would’ve loved that these treasures were to be made to the public soon.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes. Though if I know Lord Fiske he’d have been quick to step in and inform Mr. Webber which ones were fake,” Bates smirked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie stifled a laugh and leaned back. “Might I ask why you brought the champagne, Bates?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yes. I hope you don’t take this as impropriety on my part, Countess.” He handed her one of the flutes and added, “I merely wished to make a toast to new friends.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, well, isn’t that lovely.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He escorted her out onto the balcony that overlooked the garden within the museum’s outer walls. Maggie paused to admire the greenery below as Bates opened the champagne.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And Lord Fiske would have very much been glad to be reacquainted with an old companion.” He poured her a drink.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m curious, Bates,” Maggie questioned. “Did you tender your resignation with Lord Fiske after that incident with the Jade Monkeys?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates finished pouring his own drink and set the bottle down by his feet. “I suppose you could put it that way. After the arrest I served my time in prison and eventually got out on good behavior.” Bates’ mood switched from proud to solemn. “I don’t regret leaving Lord Fiske’s employ, however I do sometimes regret not keeping contact with him, especially given what’s happened.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a moment Maggie wished she could drop the act as Countess Irene and speak as Dr. Margaret Beckhert. As a former evil henchperson herself, much of what Bates had to say rang so very familiar. She wanted to tell him that he was at least fortunate that he and Monty hadn’t drifted apart under such bitter circumstances that she and Night Terror did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s just after the Jade Monkeys were destroyed the master had become even more obsessed and reclusive than before. I think I read somewhere that he had been seen assisted by a group of monkey ninjas. So…” Bates shrugged. “At least he kept himself busy.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Have you tried sending your condolences to him?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I would, but I <em>know</em> no one is living at that castle. If I were to send over a wine basket who would be there to accept it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He leaned over the balcony and confirmed that there was no one below them in the garden. As he was occupied Maggie reached into the hem of her opera glove and retrieved a tiny white tablet, stealthily dropping it into Bates’ glass and letting it dissolve in the champagne.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates leaned back and picked up the champagne bottle again. “No, instead I shall pour one out to an old friend.” He tipped the bottle and poured a considerable amount into the garden below. He raised his glass. “To Lord Monty Fiske. Your intellectual curiosity truly took you to places where man was never meant to venture.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie raised her own glass. “To Monty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cautiously nursed her drink as she waited for the pill to take effect.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates’ lids grew heavy and he dropped to his knees. He was about to land face-first into the railing but Maggie held him up by the shoulders. She dragged him over and propped him up on the wall next to the doorway, letting him snore peacefully. She would have slipped him two of those tablets, but she enjoyed their conversation enough that she only gave one. That would only keep him asleep for about forty-five to sixty minutes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled and looked up at the moon in the starless city sky. “It really is a lovely night. Best to enjoy it, Bates, old pal.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She set her empty glass beside him and returned inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She retraced her steps to the gallery she peered in before, and she smiled when she caught sight of a most exquisite glimmer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She quietly stepped in closer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Resting on a small black square for contrast was the Diamond Snare. It was even more dazzling in its display case than in its picture. It looked like a delicate cobweb glimmering even in the most minimal of light.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slipped off the glove on her right hand. <em>Too easy.</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cut a hole in the glass with her nail, once more avoiding any disturbance to the display or breaking of the glass.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slid her glove back on and picked it up between her fingers as gently as if it were made of the most delicate of silks. It certainly looked and felt as though that were the case. It was as weightless to the point where it felt nonexistent. She gently draped it across her palm, and she applied pressure in its center with the tip of her finger. Suddenly it snapped up, taking the shape and weight of a small ball. She lightly squeezed it in her hand and now it was as firm as rubber. Still it sparkled like a most exquisite ball of yarn.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But the echo of the snare snapping shut gave away something she hadn’t quite anticipated at this point. She was not alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Drop the artifact, ma’am!” a stern woman’s voice commanded. Maggie’s head bolted up and she felt the barrel of a handgun against the back of her head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She had been caught.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. The Hero</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was apprehended by two people in black suits, one a man and the other a woman. Neither of them had badges or uniforms identifying them as museum security, which Maggie found suspicious.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After the woman confiscated the Diamond Snare from her, she was brought to the manager’s office where they proceeded to tie her to a wooden chair. Maggie remembered to keep her muscles tense as they were binding her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two goons stood vigilant at her sides and Maggie, while tempted to point out how unorthodox and unlawful this was, she figured they were waiting for their superior. She wanted to find out who it was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The office door opened.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before her stood a man in a dark coat and a matching wide-rimmed hat, tilted so that his face was obscured. He lifted his chin in a dramatic fashion and Maggie recognized the masked face of the notorious villain Night Terror.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He was of relatively small stature; Maggie had maybe about three inches over him when she wasn’t in heels. His current getup was no different from their days as villainous accomplices. He mostly favored muted purples and his trench coat was frayed at the ends from foes stepping on it. He appeared to have gotten his hair cut since Maggie last saw him. His dirty blonde hair was now only about jaw-length and no longer tied back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie laughed upon recognizing her ex-husband, looking so smarmy as he stood on one foot and leaning against his wooden staff. He had grown a small mustache since she last saw him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, no! It’s the Dread Pirate Roberts!” she mocked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Ho ho ho!” Night Terror laughed back. “Look who’s got a smart mouth on her now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I <em>was</em> the only real smart one in the lair. Our hired goons notwithstanding, of course.” Maggie glanced at the suited agents. “Speaking of which, I see that your choice of company has become more… law-abiding?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes, yes,” Night Terror nodded as he shifted his weight back on his two feet. He paced about the room as he continued. “A lot has happened in the last few years.” He paused and shot a knowing glance at Maggie. “After <em>someone</em> told the authorities about the location of our secret lair…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled in response. She had no regrets about what she did.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“So, what? You out on good behavior?” she queried as she lifted an eyebrow. “Is this your community service? Because last I checked, it’s standard do-gooder protocol to turn a scoundrel such as myself over to the authorities?” She raised her fists enough to make the ropes around her wrists squeak. “I mean, really, Jeremy. If you wanted to engage in a little bondage play, you had your chance over five years ago!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror looked flustered as the female goon struggled to keep from laughing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile the other goon looked concerned. “Uh, should we leave? Do you two need to talk this out?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, stick around!” Maggie insisted. “You might learn something. Namely, how to <em>not</em> fail in marriage!” She tossed an accusing glower at Night Terror.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, <em>I </em>failed?!” the masked vigilante objected. “You just up and left me! As soon as I’m in jail you saddled me with divorce papers!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You signed them, didn’t you?” Maggie reminded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, yeah,” Night Terror reluctantly admitted. “But only because I wanted you and your little flying rats out of my hair for good!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie’s nostrils flared. How <em>dare</em> he bring up her babies…</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“There’s an order to these things, you know,” he continued. “The criminal mastermind can’t keep getting henpecked by a mere lab assistant!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘Lab assistant?’” Maggie echoed. “Excuse me, buster! I did all the work in the lab! You wouldn’t have your ‘striking fear in the hearts of men’ schtick if it weren’t for me! Also, making suggestions <em>hardly</em> constitutes as ‘henpecking’.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See? There you go again! Always criticizing me and making me feel stupid!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two goons glanced at each other. They had been hired for their interrogation tactics, but instead <em>they</em> were starting to feel uncomfortable.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, really? Making you <em>feel</em> stupid? Well, tell me, Jeremy. Have you been striking fear anytime lately? Induce any wide-awake nightmares in your enemies?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror’s face twitched. He had nothing to respond with.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Didn’t think so,” said Maggie. “Your super villain gimmick never would have taken off if it weren’t for me, because you never bothered to put in any of the real work yourself. Not in the job <em>or</em> the relationship.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, yeah?” Night Terror stood in front of Maggie. “Just who orchestrated the whole operation from the start? You’d still be Little Nobody Margaret Beckhert if you hadn’t decided to come along. You’d be wiling away in some chemical lab somewhere with a big-name egghead taking all the credit.” He lifted Maggie’s chin with the end of his staff. “I could have hired <em>any </em>scientist to create that nightmare compound for me, but I brought you. And you followed me because you had nowhere else to go in that backwater town of yours. You wouldn’t be Maggie the Bat.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie felt herself get nauseous. She made the decision to join him on his criminal crusade because the scientific community was indeed very hostile towards women like her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror leaned against a filing cabinet by the door as he drew in a deep breath to calm himself. “But… I realize that giving up on us may have been a mistake on my part… Maggie, my time in the clink got me thinking. Why conduct a hostile takeover of the mayor’s office, when I can just make nice with them by helping the local police?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie made a disgusted face. “You always <em>did</em> have terrible taste…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He ignored her remark. “I started off as a prison snitch. Five jailbreaks foiled, and one riot preemptively quelled. Well, not before I took a few punches, anyway…” He rubbed at his nose at the memory. “You see, my dear Maggie, it’s not a matter of gumption or power. The reality is it’s a matter of being on the winning side! People are automatically afraid of you when all you have to do is recite the word of the law…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked back at Maggie as a wicked smile curved across his face. “And I would be more than happy to have you back, Maggie. On <em>my</em> side.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie was unimpressed. “And why would I do that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Because you <em>need</em> me, Maggie. You always did love the fame and notoriety as a criminal, and I haven’t seen your name in the papers for several months. You were only famous as my associate and—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m gonna have to stop you right there,” Maggie interrupted, “cuz my answer is ‘no’.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, come on!” Already Night Terror lost his composure and sounded like a child trying to negotiate for extra dessert. “If it’s the ‘associate’ part, I’ll let you have top-billing this time!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hell, no! Leaving you was one of the best decisions I ever made. I just wish it didn’t take the death of my babies to make me come to my senses…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You’re still on about that?! It was only a few bats! The rest survived, didn’t they? Bats are the perfect implement for striking fear and you know it!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Bats are not weapons! They’re animals! They just wanted to find food and you left them at the mercy of some panicked humans! My babies didn’t ask for that! And you sure as hell didn’t ask <em>me </em>if it was okay to get them involved!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Like the world will miss a few insignificant flying rodents! You always were too soft on the runts!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’ll say. You’re living proof of that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wha—Hey!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“At least my babies never had an obsessive jealous streak.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, come on! You’re still mad about that, too?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes! As a matter of fact, I am!” Maggie declared. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, excuse me! How was I supposed to know you weren’t gonna leave me for that guy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Uh, through <em>trust</em>? It’s what <em>friends</em> do?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror rolled his eyes. “Oh, this again? You of all people know I couldn’t even trust my dad to stay—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, sure. Here you go! Blame your daddy for everything wrong in your life! Your dad was a scumbag. I know that. So was mine. He cheated on my mom. But <em>I’m</em> not your dad! And I’m certainly not your mommy here to nurse your childhood trauma! Grow up!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror felt himself trembling in shock. This woman sat tied up before him and at his mercy, yet she was still willing to spit in his face.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s like… I don’t even know you…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“See, that’s just it, Jeremy,” Maggie replied. “You really don’t know me…” Maggie tilted her chin down with a wily grin. “Did you <em>really</em> think I would be so sloppy? That I’d make it so easy for you to catch me like this?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror’s eyes slowly widened in realization.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wasn’t the thief. She was a decoy.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. The Hurricane</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The museum alarm blared. Someone else had broken in and stolen something while Maggie the Bat was in Night Terror’s custody.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The party guests out in the foyer panicked as the museum’s security staff made their way in the direction of the west wing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A black-hooded ninja had just smashed through the glass of a display case and snatched one of the rarest treasures of them all. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After several minutes of keeping her muscles tense, Maggie finally relaxed her arms and was able to slide her hands through the ropes that bound her wrists. She then cut through the ropes around her torso with her nails, cutting through the fingers of her gloves as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sprung from her chair feet-first, kicking Night Terror in the shins and knocking him down even as her ankles were still bound.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She cut through the remaining ropes at her feet only about halfway when she realized the two goons had drawn their guns. Before they could fire she snatched Night Terror’s wooden staff and swung, hitting both the goons’ knuckles hard enough that they dropped her weapons. They recoiled like they had just been reprimanded by a painfully stern teacher and her ruler.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ropes slid from Maggie’s ankles as she cartwheeled in their direction and a double-kicked in the male goon’s jaw, throwing him back on the manager’s desk. Night Terror’s staff still firmly in her grip, she tripped the female goon from below and knocked her off her feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">While she was down, Maggie pinned her down with the staff at her neck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She reached into the lady’s jacket, retrieving the Diamond Snare. “I’ll take that.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She was about to make her way out the door but Night Terror had gotten back up and steadfastly stood in her way, his arms and feet wide apart like he was determined to act as a human wall. But Maggie hit him in the stomach with the end of his own staff, making him crumple forward. She then stomped on his foot with the heel of her shoe.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You dance for <em>me</em> now, monkey!” Maggie declared as he hopped on one foot.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Excuse me?!” she heard an offended Monkey Fist exclaim through her earpiece.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh! No offense, Monty.” One of the goons lunged at Maggie and she ducked, allowing the goon to bang against the filing cabinet. “Hang on! Were you listening in the whole time?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, I…” She could hear how flustered Monkey Fist was on the other end as she crawled out from underneath the stunned goon. “Suppose you were to give away my position! I should very well like to know that ahead of time!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie’s mouth curved into a smile as she got back to her feet. “You were worried about me, weren’t you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be ridiculous!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That is so sweet of you,” she teased as she leaned back and dodged a kick from the lady goon, only barely missing her chest.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Look, I’d love to argue semantics with you but we need to get to our transport!” Monkey Fist reminded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over on the other end of the west wing the hooded ninja was up against a wall and looking out a window. Security staff was already gathering in the guest parking lot to ambush the intruders.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Which might prove difficult…” Monkey Fist added.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t worry,” Maggie reassured. The lady goon failed to land a punch, instead having Maggie grab her arm and throw her against the wall. “I got it covered.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the goons momentarily dispatched, Maggie eyed the still hopping Night Terror. She breezed by him, the light brush of her elbow finally knocking the masked buffoon over.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What?!” Night Terror sat up and frantically checked his pockets. “MY KEYS!!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked up and saw Maggie leaning in the doorway, twirling his keys around her finger. “Sorry, babe! But you took back the ring! I’m taking back the bike!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie made a mad dash down the hall.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Meet me outside the garden, Monty!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As she rushed down the stairs it was only then that she noticed that her lovely blue dress had been torn in the scuffle. What a shame.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She opened the heavy door to the underground parking garage. There in one of the employee parking spaces was the sleek burgundy motorcycle she had gotten Night Terror as an anniversary gift several years ago. It still had the bat wing-shaped fins on the sides and, to his credit, it was still in good shape.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However it looked like it got a new paint job, as she could no longer see its name written in silver on the side: Hurricane.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A matching helmet was left hanging off of one of the handles and she slipped it on after taking her seat. Many a time she had ridden on the back of this despite her own license to ride it, but now she was hers.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She turned the key in the ignition. It was great to hear the old girl roar again.</span>
</p><hr/><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Back in the darkened west wing three members of the security staff had caught up with the hooded ninja and shined their flashlights on him as he tried to sneak towards the exit. For the moment they saw no evidence that he was carrying stolen goods, but he reached for something in his sleeve. Alarmed, they retrieved their weapons and they were about to open fire. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ninja ducked from their collective light sources and they felt something metallic trip them all up at once, like they had been simultaneously hit in the shins by a metal pipe despite him being several feet away from them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ninja darted towards the hall, but not before one of the guards was able to fire a few shots in his direction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist made sure he was far out of their sight when he stopped to acknowledge that he had been hit in the left flank. It stung immensely and it bled into his black clothes, but he didn’t have the time to attend to it. Not yet. He had what he needed and he was so close to escaping.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made his way for the balcony, unaware that a limping Night Terror was not far behind him. He had failed to catch up with Maggie and now chose to go after her partner.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Meanwhile out on the balcony Bates was just regaining consciousness, the drug having worn off accompanied by the muffled blaring of the alarm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His eye caught the black-clad thief about to spring over the railing when he dove forward and grabbed him by the ankle, causing him to fall forward.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The ninja would have fought him off on instinct, but he flinched as his bullet wound throbbed at his side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A determined Bates yanked the mask off his head.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He felt the color leave his face at the sight of his old, presumably dead employer.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Neither man spoke, both in a state of shock to see each other and under such circumstances.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then they both heard a panting Night Terror push through the glass door and urgently rush towards them.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">For a split second Night Terror recognized the features of the unmasked ninja, before Bates stuck his foot out and tripped him mid-run.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, heavens,” Bates said dryly. “How clumsy of me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Night Terror moaned as he could barely remain conscious. He didn’t see Bates shoot a stone-cold gaze at Monkey Fist as he unhanded him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Bates said nothing, only lifting an eyebrow as if to say, “Consider this my condolences, old friend.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist returned the stern look in thanks as he got back to his feet, and vanished over the balcony railing like a serpent.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He made his way through the garden and between the bars of the west gate, where Maggie was idling on her newly-acquired motorcycle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What took you so long?” she teased.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t bother to ask about the unfortunate state of her dress or even how she acquired such a vehicle. He sat behind her and held tight around her waist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie drove off in the direction from which they came. The north exit out of Middleton.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But they weren’t out of the woods yet. As she kept to the less busy streets it didn’t take long before they could hear police sirens behind them. Whether it was for the robbery itself or multiple speeding violations it didn’t matter.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist found himself intensely clinging to her. Part of it was the awareness that he had no helmet on, but also despite his criminal history, high-speed chases were a little out of his wheelhouse. He couldn’t understand how Maggie could be so calm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Though the truth was she was only barely keeping her cool. She had to be. The police sirens were making her incredibly anxious, as even with a full-helmet on the noise affected her hearing and cut through her like a knife. She had to keep a sharp eye ahead of her so as to weave through traffic without crashing. So many times she barely missed other drivers’ taillights.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Their hearts raced as they were almost out of town, but the draw-bridge up ahead of them was just starting to rise.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hang on to your shurikens!” Maggie warned, her fists tightening.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist braced himself.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They broke through the barrier and shot up the slope.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Time seemed to slow as they were airborne. Maggie held her breath as she was both terrified and excited at once, whereas it took all of Monkey Fist’s strength to keep from screaming. His grip around her waist only tightened, anticipating that they were either going to crash or fall into the water.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The wheels finally bounced back onto the asphalt and Monkey Fist let out a high-pitched gasp. They made it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The police sirens faded behind them as Maggie continued down the empty road. Out of Middleton and towards the woods.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The thieves finally came to a stop when they were certain that the police were several miles behind them. They shrouded themselves and the bike among the trees so they could catch their breath. Up in the night sky they could actually see a collection of stars, confirming that they were far out of town.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist leaned against a tree and exhaled in a wheeze that quickly turned into a laugh like that of a frenzied monkey.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie took off her helmet. Did her ears and eyes deceive her? First time she actually heard him laugh like that since she met him, and out of thrill and enjoyment, no less.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist was astonished that they made it out of there, but it was also very exhilarating. He was lightheaded and having a hard time coming down from the adrenaline rush alone.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Fun, huh?” Maggie smiled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes!” he laughed. He finally got it out of his system and caught his breath. He looked up at Maggie. With his smile remaining in place he added, “Let’s never do that again…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie giggled. “No promises.” She leaned forward with her elbows resting on the bike seat. “So, did you get it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Of course, I—” But then Monkey Fist winced as he drew in a sharp breath. His wound was still throbbing.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What is it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s nothing,” Monkey Fist insisted. “Just a scratch.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaped over the bike and took his hand away from his side. She got a good look at his bullet wound. There was no sign that anything was lodged in there, but it was still bleeding. In a way he was correct that it was a scratch, but a very deep one.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s not nothing,” she argued.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She knelt down and tore strips of blue fabric from her skirt. The dress was already ruined; what more damage could be done?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, really, Margaret,” Monkey Fist insisted. “I’ll be fine. I’ve endured far worse.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie stood back up. “Come on, you big ape.” She wasted no time pulling his gi open and securing the shreds of fabric around his waist. Until they had access to a proper first aid kit it should have been enough to hold back the bleeding.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist panted. It was like he was taken aback with how forward she was. Or perhaps “forward” was the wrong word for it. In any case, she had just sprung into action to dress his wound and he was not accustomed to that.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">What felt strangely intimate to him was merely something casual to her, and he was a little surprised at that. She even helped him close his gi again, and it all went by so fast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie returned to the matter at hand. “Anyway, you got the item, right?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist cleared his throat, hoping she didn’t see him flushed. “I did.” Monkey Fist pulled from his sleeve what looked like a chopstick made of black metal and adorned with gold on the ends.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That’s it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist smirked. With a flick of his wrist and the small stick grew to a size of a proper staff, almost as tall as he was. He held it up in a presentational manner. “That’s it.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Okay! <em>Now</em> I’m impressed! May I see that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He handed it to her and Maggie fell forward from its weight, almost stumbling into him. It was far thicker and heavier than he made it look.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He helped her back up as he took the staff back. He reduced it to the size of a crochet hook and tucked it back into his sleeve.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I must say, Margaret,” Monkey Fist complimented, “I’m quite pleased with the way you read your ex-husband the Riot Act back there.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah…” Maggie looked back in the direction of Middleton, wishing she could share the sentiment. She let out a heavy sigh. It was like she was finally coming down from the high she just experienced. Fast and hard.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist refastened his belt and took notice at the sullen look on Maggie’s face. “Is something the matter, Margaret?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, no, no,” Maggie reassured. “I’m fine. I’m just… tired is all. It’s been a helluva night.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist let out a silent chuckle. “Indeed.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie slipped her helmet back on and took her seat on the bike again.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh. Note to self: We need to get you a helmet, too,” she observed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“That won’t be necessary,” Monkey Fist replied as he sat behind her. “I don’t plan on doing this again.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, really? That’s a shame. I was hoping to show you some of my favorite cycling routes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monkey Fist tightly coiled his arms around her waist once more. His injury would mean they would have to bide their time before their next heist, but it was a relief to him that the mission was in such attentive, reliable hands.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0010"><h2>10. The Greenhouse</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As soon as the two thieves had returned to the castle they had Monkey Fist’s wound cleaned and properly dressed. They couldn’t risk him flinching and getting caught, or the injury getting worse. So until he was fully healed he couldn’t be the criminal Monkey Fist. For now he had to be Monty Fiske, dead man on holiday.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The mountainside air had become more brisk than usual this evening. Summer was at its end.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty changed into his lounging clothes, tied the belt to his smoking jacket and decided to pay a visit to the greenhouse.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Inside it was adorned with classical-style cement statues of people with their animal companions, loosely inspired by a selection of Greco-Roman gods. This included Athena with her owl perched on her forearm, Artemis gently petting a fawn’s head, and Hades and Persephone greeted by a trio of excited hounds.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty turned on the light fixtures and it gave the statues a striking, haunting look. The kind that may have frightened him as a small child and given him the idea that one shouldn’t turn their back on them, lest they’d be gobbled up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As an adult they hardly frightened him anymore, as they seemed content and at peace. At least they weren’t twisted in horror and agony as he once was.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However the reminder of his fate disturbed him once more and he flipped the switch that turned on the music. A little bit of Sondheim usually calmed his nerves, and the plants looked like they could use it, too.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The plants had fallen into slight neglect since his time away, however in his absence a couple of the monkeys had mimicked how their master took care of the greenery and did manage to keep several of them alive. Now the worst they sustained was some wilting.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Losing My Mind” from <em>Follies</em>. A lovely, albeit melancholy tune to start the night with.But no sooner did the music start that his ears picked up some unexpected accompaniment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He tilted his head. This wasn’t the version with vocals. He looked around the greenhouse. He was so sure it had been empty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Over on the far end of the atrium he spotted Maggie slouched forward on an ornate stone bench, a half-empty bottle of red wine in hand.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I know you’re back there, Monty,” Maggie called out without turning around. She knew his size and his stride too well based on the echo that her singing had created.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty relented and decided to join her. He descended down the stone steps and took a seat next to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled as she limply tilted her head, looking like a puppet missing its string for the top of its head. “Enjoying the show? I should take you out for karaoke sometime… I do a <em>mean</em> Pat Benatar.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He glanced at her choice of drink. “I’m just glad to see you chose the Merlot.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie gave him a funny look. “What? You really think I’d be so stupid as to bogart your Monkey King booze? After the trouble we went through getting it?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mmm. Point taken.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took another swig. She joked, but it couldn’t mask the sadness in her eyes. He had never seen her so melancholy, much less inebriated to the point that he could smell the wine on her breath.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t sure if he really wanted to pry as to why she was do down. He was most unfamiliar with handling the emotions of others. But also, in her vulnerable state, he didn’t want to open a Pandora’s Box of anger and grief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">However if it had to do with the context of the song, a woman having great difficulty moving past an old flame even as she had made a new life for herself, he could venture a guess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The music played on and Maggie swayed back and forth as she hummed along.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t think you were a Sondheim fan,” Monty remarked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hmm? Oh, yeah. I dabble.” She leaned back as she explained, “When I lived with Amy she was really into show tunes. Had all kinds of records. <em>Phantom</em> was her fave, but she liked a few Sondheim shows. As long as they weren’t <em>Sweeney Todd</em>.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty laughed. “There’s <em>another</em> thing we wouldn’t be able to agree on…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s that?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Amy Hall and I…” Monty awkwardly cleared his throat. “… we… might have went out for coffee once.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, my God!” Maggie laughed. “So she <em>did</em> get to meet you! I mean, besides the monkey thing…” she specified as she pointed out his hairy hands. “That’s so cute!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty scowled. “Hardly. Apparently she couldn’t take ‘Let’s keep things professional’ for an answer.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh… I’m…” Maggie shook her head. “…honestly not that surprised. She was always a little clingy…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She took another swig as Monty dryly mentioned, “Try turning herself into a gorilla to try to impress me.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie spat out her wine, laughing at the absurdity of it all and nearly falling sideways into Monty’s lap. “Yeah, sounds like a fair and just reason not to return her calls.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She sat back up and rubbed at her forehead, choosing to be quiet for a moment.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty gazed out through the glass of the greenhouse. The autumn clouds had started shrouding the sky, but the stars were still visible for the time being.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie leaned to the side and sleepily rested her head on Monty’s shoulder, making him flinch at the touch.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Took the kids with him, the bastard…” she grumbled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty cautiously slipped the bottle out of Maggie’s grip as if he was parting a cat from her favorite toy. She almost protested but he insisted, “You’ve had enough for tonight, Margaret.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Eh, don’t worry, Monty. I’m not <em>that</em> far gone.” She tried to stand with her hand on his shoulder like it was a crutch, still struggling to maintain her balance. “I’m fine. I— Oop!” She nearly stumbled backwards but Monty caught her by the waist.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He helped her stand so that they faced each other and she stopped wobbling. She heavily rested her head on his chest and rubbed her face against his jacket like it was a silk pillow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty raised an eyebrow. “Yes, you’ve certainly had enough.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked up at him, her head still resting on his jacket. “The bastard took the kids with him,” she repeated. “That’s what I keep telling myself… But it won’t stop hurting…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty draped her arm around his shoulders and escorted her back to the castle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t going to walk her all the way up to the guest room, so for now the sofa in the parlor would have to suffice.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He laid her down, draping a spare wool blanket over her. Before he could leave, Maggie reached out for the Wufu pendant still dangling from his neck. He resisted at first.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m not gonna take it, I’m not gonna take it,” Maggie swore. “I jus’ wanna look at it…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty reluctantly had to trust her on that. She was far too tipsy to try to snatch it off his neck and run. Not without stumbling on her way out. He leaned in closer as she sat up so she could hold the jade pendant. She affectionately stroked the edge of one of the five bats’ wings with her thumb.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Looks jus’ like my babies…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that she moaned as Monty gently lied her back down on her side, and pulled the blanket up over her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Some time after Monty left the room, a hoodless Daisy curiously made her way into the parlor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The little monkey nuzzled up to Maggie’s chin and pulled the blanket up like a child getting into bed with their mother. A still barely-awake Maggie stroked the fur on the top of Daisy’s head with her index finger. Just the way she used to with her baby bats.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <b>Ten years ago…</b>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You went on an exhibition with Lord Monty Fiske?!” Amy repeated, her face absolutely beaming with excitement.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It was just a work-study thing,” Maggie sheepishly shrugged. “How was I to know he was going to be a big deal on the Knowing Channel?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Margaret Hawthorne had been sharing an apartment with Amy Hall for about six months at this point. Both experts in their respective fields, they got to live close to the university and they both had a penchant for furry animals. They had bonded over critters they felt didn’t get enough appreciation, such as bats and possums, and it wasn’t long before the ladies realized they also had a taste for really bookish men.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Tell me, was he just as cute then as he is now?” Amy prodded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Amy, please! I’m a married woman!” Maggie played coy, but then she gave a mischievous smirk. “You bet he was!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Amy could barely contain her excited giggle.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“And twice as learned!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Amy gasped.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Apparently the Knowing Channel can only film so much of his vast bastion of knowledge!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Amy bounced on the sofa as she squealed, “You are so lucky! You didn’t happen to stay in touch with him, did you?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, I didn’t think to. I had my wedding plans to get started on…” She seemed so disappointed in saying that. However she smiled again and added, “But believe me, if I had known I’d have friend who liked him as much as I do, I would have. I think he’d really like you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Maggie! You’re so sweet! So… Did you and Monty have any… ‘late-night study sessions’ together?” Amy nudged.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie’s shoulders hunched over with alarm. “No!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maggie, I—”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I SWEAR NOTHING HAPPENED!!” Maggie cried as she edged back towards the end of the sofa like an animal cornered, instinctively bracing herself as if Amy was about to hit her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Maggie! Maggie! It’s okay!” She rubbed at her friend’s shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie managed to calm herself down, horrified at the place she had briefly been brought back to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, Maggie, I’m sorry,” Amy apologized, genuinely concerned. “I didn’t mean to…” And then she realized, “Oh, no. … Jeremy?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie took a few calming breaths. She was safe with Amy. “Yeah. Jeremy…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, sweetie…” Amy draped her arm around Maggie’s shoulders. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The poor girl was shaking. Amy was inviting Maggie to let her cry on her shoulder but she never did. Like she still felt the need to keep her guard up and put on a brave face for the world.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Amy reached around and retrieved one of many of her Cuddle Buddy plush toys that she practically decorated the apartment with. This one was Siamese Bat, basically a blue-eyed Siamese kitten with bat wings, and she set it in Maggie’s lap. She figured she might need the extra friend for the night, and Maggie was very appreciative of the thought.</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie didn’t wake up until about noon. The overcast daylight streamed through the gaps in the curtains, as Monty had kept them shut knowing full well that his guest would have a killer hangover the next day.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And he was right. Maggie’s head throbbed as she sat up, alarming Daisy who was still cuddled up next to her. Daisy jumped down to the floor as Maggie massaged her temples.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She heard Monty make his way down the stairs and towards the kitchen. It felt like an eternity getting up as her whole body was heavy.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">By the time she made it to the dining hall Monty had already prepared breakfast for the both of them. Plates of eggs, bacon and toast. He had also left a glass of water at Maggie’s place at the table so that she may begin her process of rehydration.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The dining hall was built to seat over ten people on a single long, narrow wooden table. However since it was just the two of them they sat across from each other on one end.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Since staying at Castle Fiske it wasn’t unusual for Monty to prepare breakfast so late in the day. Thieves operating in the shadows kept late hours. Frankly it always surprised Maggie that he even bothered to go through the trouble of preparing meals. Like he was trying to keep up appearances. Rarely, though, did they actually share meals together as they didn’t keep the same eating hours. Normally, she’d just help herself to a snack whenever she got peckish, preferably fruit or something meaty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">This was one of the few times they were actually able to meet each other for breakfast.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The two of them ate in silence. Maggie didn’t want to bring up the previous night as she was just embarrassed that he saw her like that, whereas Monty kept waiting for her to say something.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Fed up, he got out of his seat and pulled open the curtains, much to Maggie’s discomfort. Even the gray, overcast sunlight burned her retinas and she shielded her face like a movie vampire.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Care to explain last night?” Monty flatly questioned as he turned back to her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie groaned. “What about it? So I got a bit drunk. So what?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“‘A bit?’ I’m just glad you didn’t throw up.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What’s it to you if I decide to get plastered? You’re not my mom!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, but I’d rather not have my partners go the way of a Tennessee Williams lead. Not before our mission is complete, anyway.” He returned to his seat across from her and folded his hands in front of him. “What happened?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Nothing! Jeez!” Maggie stubbornly leaned back in her chair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You kept saying something about him ‘taking the kids with him’. Tell me what happened, Margaret.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie sighed as she rubbed at her forehead. “The other night when I was fighting with my ex… How much of that did you catch?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Mostly all of it?” Monty guessed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Well, you heard the part where he hurt by babies?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“More or less. Your bats, I presume.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie nodded. “They were not trained for combat. I didn’t want them for combat. Their bones are too brittle to to withstand a blow from a tennis racket and they don’t want to hurt people. But folks are still scared of them, and I get it. I used to be, too, but… I wanted them to be safe.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty sighed. “But he wanted to exploit that common fear of bats for his own gain. Correct?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie didn’t say anything, confirming his guess.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Tears welled up in her eyes. “I couldn’t let him get away with it… I turned myself in as well, partly because I wanted to be there to watch the bastard’s humiliation when the judge sentenced him. But… I had to let my babies go. It was the only way they could be safe. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“When I turned myself in I made a deal that they would be in the care of the best wildlife refuge in the area. I know I probably didn’t have to go as far as I did. I could’ve snitched on Jeremy and skipped town with them… But…” She cupped her hands. “…when you’re holding one of your babies…” Maggie could never forget that. The poor pup’s bones shattered, his magnificent wings hanging limply from her hands. One of several she had rescued and raised from infancy, killed in a moment of panic by some unknowing bystander.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty concealed his face in his hands, hoping she wouldn’t see his grimace as he tried to hold back his own tears. Once more the aftermath of that slash-and-burn incident in Brazil haunted him. That chaotic feeling of betrayal and loss, only erupting as anger.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty sighed. He lowered his hands from his face as he succeeded in holding back his tears once more.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t say anything. He didn’t have to. Maggie could see the melancholy look in his eyes that he knew of such loss and grief.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He left his half-finished breakfast on the table as he got up in silence. He went off to feed his monkey ninjas while Maggie went ahead and helped herself what was left of his side of bacon.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It sounded like Maggie got to have her revenge, defecting and humiliating her ex-husband. But Monty’s had only begun, and they were but one treasure away.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. The Legend</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie had spent the rest of the day nursing her hangover, locked in her room with the curtains closed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She didn’t reemerge until dusk, after she had plenty of rest and rehydration. She found Daisy waiting for her out in the hall, having previously been curled up in a nap and now chittering and bouncing for joy. As Maggie started walking through the hall the little monkey tugged at her pant leg. She wanted to be carried. So Maggie bent down and let her climb up her arm and safely perch on her shoulder.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She descended the stone stairs into the parlor, where Monty was in his chair reading a thick, tattered leather-bound book by the firelight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie sighed as another memory swept over her. During that excavation with Monty Fiske so long ago she realized she had found him very attractive, but by then she was already engaged to Jeremy. She remembered how one afternoon while she and Monty were discussing one of their findings she just wanted to lean forward across the table and kiss him. But she couldn’t bring herself to do it. She was nothing if not the faithful fiancé.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked up to where Monty now sat. In the years to follow she sometimes regretted that she didn’t kiss him when she had the chance. But were those feelings for him ever real? Or was it a red flag that she was unhappy in her marriage and she wanted an easy-out from Jeremy?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Daisy could tell that Maggie was troubled and leaped down from her shoulder to join her compatriots in the dojo.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie leaned her shoulder against the archway. “Hey, Monty…?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He momentarily pulled his attention away from his research.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wanted to say something. Anything. But it felt like the words were trapped within her chest and she couldn’t force them through her throat.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Failing to retrieve those words, she instead asked, “Just <em>how</em> did you get turned to stone, anyway?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He raised an eyebrow.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Just… your friend Bates said something about ancient monkey powers and that you ‘flew too close to the sun’…? His words, not mine.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty set his reading aside and stood up.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighed, his gaze fixated on the fireplace with his hands behind his back. “Some time ago I sought the power of an immortal primate called the Yono. I was only able to find a scant amount of information on him, so nothing could have prepared me for what was to come. He had been encased in stone himself when I found him, and I foolishly didn’t take that into account when I agreed to follow in his path.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I see…” Maggie cautiously stepped closer. “Did you shake on it? Or did you sign a contract in your own blood?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“In a manner of speaking, you could say both.” He turned to her and brushed aside the hairs on the back of his left hand, revealing the circular mark of the Yono burned into his skin.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie held his hand closer in slight disbelief in what she was seeing. “Guess you <em>did</em> get burned, huh?” She looked back up at Monty. “I didn’t think you were serious about all of this.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty’s eyes glazed over as he pulled his hand back. “I have a horde of monkey ninjas whom I’ve been training for years. What made you think I <em>wasn’t</em> serious about this mission?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Point taken. So… what was the deal with you being in stone?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Best I could do was wait for someone to awaken me as I had done with him,” Monty explained as he pulled down his sleeve. “As far as I am aware that never happened.” He flexed his fingers in frustration. “I can’t summon the powers of the Yono, and I did not awaken in the desert where I was left. I found myself here, and I don’t know how, when, or even how long it’s been…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s maybe been several months, at least,” Maggie clarified. She crossed her arms in front of her as she added, “But… You’ve pretty much escaped death—or limbo, or whatever it was— and now with this whole Monkey King treasure hunt you’re just gonna go poking the gorilla gods again?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Yono was only a <em>minor</em> monkey deity,” Monty explained. “At least when it comes to any written record of him. There were hardly any documents left of his history and I was not nearly as prepared as I should have been. Sun Wukong, on the other hand…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He looked over at a scroll that hung on a wall. An ink painting of an armored monkey carrying a staff, accompanied by a monk on horseback, a river ogre and a pig man as they traveled down the side of a mountain. To Maggie the image looked less like a world-changing pilgrimage and more like five companions on a road trip.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yes,” Monty continued. “My mistake with the Yono was getting involved with something I knew disastrously little about. Not this time. I have found more on Wukong’s last remaining treasure <em>and</em> his current whereabouts.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Wait, ‘whereabouts’?” Maggie questioned.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Indeed.” Monty’s eyes narrowed and the blue flames in his eyes intensified. “I shall not be caught blind again… And I assure you,” Monty promised as he looked back at Maggie, “you shall have more than just the Wufu pendant for your trouble…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie let out a defeated sigh and lightly shook her head. There was no talking him out of it. “All right. Whatever you say, Oh Monkey Master.” She reached in her pocket and the glimmer of the Diamond Snare reflected the hearth. “At least I get to keep this, too.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty scowled. “Really, Margaret? I specifically asked you <em>not</em> to actually steal anything.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“What, a professional thief in a room full of shiny things and I don’t get to keep <em>one</em> souvenir?” She casually tossed the snare like it was a tennis ball as she added, “You got your little size-changing walking stick.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty rolled his eyes. “Well, in that case…” He touched the jade pendant still resting on his chest. “… what use do you have of <em>this</em> worthless thing?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Hey! It wasn’t worthless when we <em>found </em>it!” Maggie protested as she pocketed the snare once more. “And don’t you think about going back on our deal! You owe me for getting you out of that museum heist and talking you through that panic attack!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I didn’t plan to.” Monty raised his eyebrow. “I’m just puzzled as to why you would want something of mine that wasn’t imbued with any ancient powers and has virtually no monetary value.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“It’s got a lot of sentimental value, all right?” She made her way for the dining hall as she added, “At my age it’s all we got left…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I’m a year older than you,” Monty flatly reminded.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She looked back at him. “Have you ever been through a messy divorce? If that doesn’t age you by about twenty years…”</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. The Dojo</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A few days wait became weeks.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">As Monty changed his bandages for the day he found that his wound had healed up enough that it had closed and was no longer tender to the touch. He was well enough to return to his kung fu drills.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With the dojo to himself, he began with a few yoga stretches. The fact that he could keep any of these positions without his side aching was an excellent sign.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He drew in a deep breath as he assumed the cat position, back arched and head low with his hands and knees on the floor. He heard footsteps and opened his eyes to see Maggie leaning against the wall of the entryway, seemingly upside-down from his perspective.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Feeling better, I see,” she smiled.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty took a seat in the lotus position in hopes that she would leave, but she was dressed in her own workout ensemble of a T-shirt and sweat pants. She was there to use the dojo as well.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I really need to write up a schedule for this place…” he sighed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie removed her sandals and set her towel down on the platform. “Oh, it’s not that. I was just thinking since you’re feeling better I could give you that capoeira demonstration I promised.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty switched to the crane position, balancing on his palms with his knees to his chest. “That won’t be necessary. I can manage just fine by myself, thank you.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You sure? Oh, that’s too bad.” She grinned. “It probably wouldn’t have been much of a challenge anyway, what with your inability to defeat a couple teenagers.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty raised an eyebrow. “Excuse me?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Not to mention your joints are probably rusty. I know that divorce can automatically age you. Can’t imagine what turning to stone can do…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh ho ho ho!” Monty boldly stood up. “In that case I’d say we’re even-keeled, aren’t we?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Now that’s more like it…” Maggie descended from the platform she pulled her white T-shirt over her head, left with her black sports bra as she shook out her hair.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty was slightly caught off-guard by the hint of musculature beneath Maggie’s slender form as she assumed a light-footed fighting stance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He wasn’t going to let her intimidate him. He flared his nostrils as he slid off his gi and threw it to the side, letting his own lean athletic physique speak for itself. The Wufu pendant still hung from his neck like a green bullseye on his chest. He narrowed his eyes and assumed his own fighting stance, <em>daring</em> her to try and take it from him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smirked, and made the first move, cartwheeling forward to kick him in the chest, only for him to block her. It was on.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Even though she wasn’t blindfolded this time, she still snapped her fingers to keep her rhythm. She might have been shorter than him but her sweeping kicks were heavy and powerful. She caught Monty by surprise when she managed to strike him across the jaw with her heel.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He couldn’t land a hit as she was always moving, but she could still feel the impact of his near-misses as the air brushed past her.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Similarly, Maggie couldn’t land a hit either. At best she could manage a light graze when he wasn’t blocking. Her style might have been graceful but his was quick and precise. Not to mention he anticipated when she was going to make a move based on her rhythm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She made an attempt to snatch the pendant off his chest, but he evaded the attack. He gave a low kick and before she could dodge he grabbed hold of her leg with his opposable foot, flinging her to the side.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She slid along the mat and looked back up at him more determined than ever. She sprung back to her feet. He wanted to play dirty? Two could play at that game.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She eyed the thick wooden tree-like apparatus used for balancing exercises and darted towards Monty. She sprung herself up from his shoulders and firmly hooked her claws into the black wood, hanging upside down by her feet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty gritted his teeth in frustration. “That’s out of bounds!” he objected.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You never said anything about environmental boundaries, Monty!” Maggie grinned. “Or are you not up for the challenge, old man?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty snarled and followed suit, climbing up the opposite end of the dual tree and bending backwards, planting a firm grip on the branch with his feet as they resumed their fight.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">The Wufu pendant slid from his neck, but he caught it before it could drop to the floor. Gripping it firmly in his fist, he looked forward to seeing her try to snatch it from him now.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With their feet firmly clasped around the shared branch they were limited to punches and dodging. Neither of them were unfamiliar with an upside-down world, but the change in gravity proved difficult. The blood rushing to their heads didn’t help either. It was a challenge for both of them, but Maggie only found it exhilarating.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With his multiple failed attempts to keep from swaying, Monty could feel his hold on the tree slipping. He was bound to fall anytime, while Maggie had the advantage of her claws securely hooked into the wood.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">With that, Monty spotted the gong that was set up several feet behind her. With the fist that held the pendant, he motioned like he was making a chop at her head and she dodged. However he threw the pendant straight at the gong and it rang on impact.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Its loud, carrying vibration shook Maggie to her core. She recoiled and instinctively covered her ears, just long enough for Monty to make a grab for her leg again with his foot. He unhooked her claws and took her down with him as he fell.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">They landed on the mat, knocking the wind out of the both of them, and the gong’s vibrations finally ceased.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">When Maggie opened her eyes she saw Monty above her and holding her wrists down, declaring himself the victor.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“You cheated,” Maggie panted.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty panted with exhaustion. “You left me at a disadvantage, Margaret.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh, did I?” Maggie teased with a coy smile.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He unhanded her wrists and was about to stand when Maggie reached out and coiled her arms around his neck. She drew him in closer, and despite his puzzled expression he didn’t flinch or pull away. A warm, gentle embrace. An odd way to end hand-to-hand combat, but he found it most inviting. He leaned in closer and rested his elbows on the mat. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie seized her long-awaited chance and kissed Monty.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He let out a surprised gasp. He thought of pulling away, but he didn’t. Maybe it was the blood rushing through his head or the adrenaline clouding his senses, but he was drawn in to the warmth of her lips and the sensation of her heartbeat against his. He leaned in further and kiss her back.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie couldn’t deny the rush. Her heart was still racing from the fight. She resisted the urge to tug at his hair between her fingers, and instead she opened her mouth to let his tongue in. Her fingers gently explored down his neck and his collarbone, caressing the long-faded scars of heists past.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But as her palm brushed at his chest Monty gasped and bolted up, panting in alarm.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>What am I doing…?</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His head cleared as he finally broke out of his adrenaline-induced stupor, while Maggie just remained on her back, confused by his reaction.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Before he could attempt to make an excuse he was saved by the ringing of his scheduled meditation chimes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He sighed with relief. “Excuse me…”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty returned to his feet and slipped his gi back on, retrieving the Wufu pendant where he left it in front of the gong. He assumed position at his shrine and lit some incense. </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie sat up. She was left dumbfounded. She hadn’t expected that from him. Was he interested in her or was he not? Did she touch him somewhere he didn’t like to be touched?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She wanted to just ask him but he was already deep in his meditation.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie let out a frustrated sigh as she got back to her feet. She didn’t know what to expect from him. Rightfully guessing that he needed some time to himself for now, she retrieved her things and left the dojo, patting the sweat away from her forehead as she ascended the stone staircase.</span>
</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0013"><h2>13. The Dowager</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty quietly exited the dojo. He had hoped his time in meditation would provide him some clarity on what had transpired between him and Maggie. Sadly, he had no such luck.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">All these years he thought he had successfully detached himself from his humanity, and that included any inkling of affectionate desires. She kissed him, for reasons that baffled him, and yet he didn’t pull away. He actively encouraged it.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">And it made no sense. Why would he have such feelings for someone who had attempted to steal from him and antagonized him so? He couldn’t deny she had been a great asset to him. Did he actually find her charming? Or attractive?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He thought back to the night that they returned from the museum heist, when she had gotten sloppy-drunk and allowed herself to be so vulnerable in his presence.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That she… <em>trusted</em> him. And why did he find that so humbling…?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">
    <em>No! Stop!</em>
  </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He didn’t want to think about it. He needed something else to distract him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After a shower and changing into his lounging attire, it was time to get back to work.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He threw the library doors open. <em>There </em>must<em> be an easier way…</em></span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">His records on all the treasures had been left in neat piles on his favorite work table. He sifted through the dossier he had on the Jade Wine, hoping it might lead to a clue about one of the other artifacts. He did the same for the folder on the Iron Staff, and still turned up nothing new.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He set the dossier down beside him as he rubbed at his furrowed brow. It was taking them far too long to search for these artifacts one-by-one, and his injury had only set them back by another several weeks. He was growing impatient.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He then remembered the Monkey King Amulet and its unusual disappearance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">After he failed to acquire it, the amulet had been returned to the Palace Museum within the Forbidden City with far tighter security after how troublingly easy it was for the likes of him to have broken in. As of a month ago, the amulet seemed to have vanished under most mysterious circumstances.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He retrieved his laptop from the shelf that he kept it and pulled up what information he had on its disappearance.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">According to multiple news sources, neither Chinese nor international authorities had any kind of lead as to who might have stolen the amulet.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He opened a video file of the security footage from that night. At first there wasn’t anything out of the ordinary with the legendary jewelry sitting in its glass display case. However around midnight, of its own volition the amulet began to glow. It glowed brighter and brighter until it was blinding. Then the security feed cut off, and hadn’t been restored until after the investigation the following morning.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty opened the crime scene photos. The display case that held the amulet had been shattered and the treasure gone. Shards of glass were spilled across the floor, as though the case had been destroyed from the inside.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty put his hand over his mouth. Puzzling, indeed. There was no sign that the amulet had combusted, as the mysterious glowing almost indicated. There were no shards of the jade it was made from or scraps of the gold ribbon that it was tied to.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty scowled, scanning the image of the aftermath thoroughly for some kind of clue. Anything.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">But then he noticed another museum artifact in the image. An ancient but seemingly ordinary gourd. It was safely in its display case, but knocked off of its wire stand and laying on its side. None of the other artifacts in the room had been disturbed, so why that one?</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty raised an eyebrow as he vaguely recalled he had previously done research on that treasure as well. He did a quick online search and his theory was confirmed.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">That gourd had gone missing from the museum not long after the Monkey King Amulet, and this time the display case was left unbroken, but the lock tampered with. It was suspected that the museum staff had some involvement, so there was an internal investigation. Unfortunately the authorities turned up nothing on the gourd’s location.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">A grin curled across Monty’s face. Unlike those fools, he knew where to look…</span>
</p><p class="p2"> </p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">It was late in the evening when Maggie found Monty alone in the library, wanting to talk to him and having followed the faint warm glow from the wall-mounted candelabras. He was sitting at a table surrounded by stacks of books, folders, and loose documents. He was deeply engrossed in his findings and shifting focus between an open tome and his laptop.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie found it amusing that he hadn’t upgraded the room for electric lighting, but she had to admit that the glow was very calming.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty glanced up at her, pausing from his typing. “Ah, Margaret. Your timing couldn’t be better.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Yeah, yeah.” She crossed her arms in front of her, surprised at how casual he was so suddenly. “Before we get into that, Sherlock, you wanna tell me what <em>happened</em> earlier?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“No, Margaret,” Monty replied plainly. “I do not.” </span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Oh, really? ‘cuz your lips were practically <em>screaming</em> otherwise back there…” she smirked.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty bolted up from his chair. “Nothing happened! There were no witnesses! You can’t prove anything!”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie chuckled. He flushed at the fact that she got a literal rise out of him.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He cleared his throat as he calmly sat back down. “We are business associates, Margaret. And I would very much like to keep it that way, if you don’t mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie shrugged as she took a seat across from him. She was a tad disappointed, but she had to admit he made a fair point. She eyed Monty’s neck; she still wanted that pendant he was wearing and they still had a job to do. Now was not the time to dwell on old crushes.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">She leaned her elbow on the table and asked, “So what’re you working on here?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty retrieved a dossier that had ended up on the bottom of one of his stacks and explained, “I’ve finally narrowed down the location of our last artifact.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He handed the dossier to Maggie and when she opened it the first thing she saw was a xeroxed page from an old textbook. In the lower righthand corner was a photo of a gourd being held in someone’s gloved hand, demonstrating that it was about the size of a soda can.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The last remaining gourd from the laboratory of Lao Tsu,” Monty explained, intertwining his fingers in front of him with a sharp look on his face. “It had been stolen from the Forbidden City, most likely by a member of security staff who had an in with the black market. Since then it had been passed around from buyer to buyer.” He pulled up some files on his computer as he continued, “It wasn’t easy, but I was finally able to track down its current owner.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned his computer to show a photo of a plump old woman in a feathered hat and pearls with a little terrier in a pink and lavender sweater cradled in her arm. Right there, tied to her waist by her sash belt was the gourd.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“The Dowager Della,” Monty continued. “She carries it on her person everywhere. Apparently she believes it’s filled with mystical pebbles that bring good luck.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie pulled the laptop closer and she scrolled down through the assortment of photos. The Dowager may have been filthy stinking rich, but she had a very kind-looking face. In one photo she was seen making a generous donation to an animal hospital.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I dunno. Are we <em>really</em> gonna pickpocket poor little Buttercup over here? She looks so sweet. Kinda reminds me of my Aunt Esther, if she had more swanky digs than that trailer park in Vegas.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Don’t be fooled, Margaret,” said Monty. “She doesn’t sign those giant checks out of the kindness of her heart. She writes them all off on her taxes.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Oh.” Maggie’s nostalgic expression dropped. “Never mind.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">He turned his computer back around, a look of contempt on his face. “What a waste… If the old biddy had done even a smidgen of research she’d know that those are not pebbles inside that gourd. They’re pills. And she just flaunts them around like they’re but a novelty.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“Pills?” Maggie repeated. “Really? If they’re really as ancient as you say they are, they’re probably expired by now.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty gave her a blank look. “I had no intention of ingesting them, Margaret.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">“I sure hope not. I don’t wanna be wheeling you into a rehab clinic like some overrated actor… So what’s the plan?” she asked as she leaned forward. “We gonna sneak into her mansion like with the booze collector?”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty stood up from his seat. “No, that’s not quite what I had in mind.” He paced about and continued, “You see, I have it on good authority that she’ll be in the country on holiday.”</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Maggie smiled. She liked where this was going.</span>
</p><p class="p1">
  <span class="s1">Monty glanced back at her with a raised eyebrow. “Care for a night at the theater, Margaret…?”</span>
</p>
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